Yvonne Goes to York

by M C Beaton

  Benjamin came into the parlour while Hannah was sitting at an open window, enjoying the morning air. She looked up. ‘Thank you for my box, Benjamin,’ she said. ‘You are the best of servants.’

  ‘Thought you might want them back after a bit,’ mumbled Benjamin. He opened his mouth to tell her he had written to Sir George and then decided against it. Sir George had obviously said nothing about it. He wondered what was going on between that unlikely pair – Hannah Pym and Sir George Clarence. They had faced possible death together, Sir George had come to her rescue, and yet that had not seemed to spark any loverlike light in the retired diplomat’s eye. It was not that Benjamin particularly wanted Hannah to marry. It was just that he dreaded that future she had planned of life in a small cottage. If she were married to Sir George, then she would live in London, and Benjamin really could not envisage living anywhere else. And over and above that, Miss Pym wanted Sir George, and Benjamin saw no reason why she shouldn’t have him.

  Monsieur Grenier came into the room, bowed before Hannah, and then raised her hand to his lips. ‘I have not yet had time, Miss Pym,’ he said, ‘to thank you for taking care of my daughter. You are a courageous and gallant lady.’

  Hannah’s sallow face flushed with pleasure. ‘What a beautiful morning,’ exclaimed Monsieur Grenier. ‘Would you care to promenade with me, Miss Pym?’

  Hannah thought very quickly. She did not want the couple in the garden disturbed. On the other hand, what if the marquis had not proposed marriage? And they had had time enough.

  She made up her mind. ‘Yes, I should like that very much, Monsieur Grenier. Benjamin, you may remain here.’

  Benjamin stood at the window and watched the couple cross the farmyard to the gate leading to the garden. Hannah stumbled on a pebble and Monsieur Grenier put an arm around her waist to steady her.

  Now, thought Benjamin, there’s a thing. They look quite a pair. I wonder if that old fossil could be made jealous – the old fossil being Sir George.

  The couple had just entered the garden when Monsieur Grenier stopped short and stared appalled at the tableau in front of him. His daughter was being ferociously kissed by the Marquis of Ware and appeared to be enjoying every minute of it.

  ‘No, no, no!’ he cried out, and the couple broke apart.

  Hannah put a hand on Monsieur Grenier’s arm and said in a quiet voice, ‘I think my lord has something to ask you.’

  The marquis took Yvonne’s hand in his and said simply, ‘I wish to marry your daughter, sir. I hope we have your blessing.’

  ‘Marry!’ Monsieur Grenier looked at them in a bewildered way. His plans for his daughter had been made. They would find a little house and work hard and then one day Yvonne would marry a young Frenchman. But a marquis!

  ‘I do not think, milord, that you have given the matter enough thought,’ he said. ‘You have the grand house, non? And many servants? Such grandeur. My daughter is used to a humbler mode of life.’

  ‘I am not marrying your daughter to gain a housekeeper, sir,’ said the marquis. ‘I am going to marry her because I love her and cannot live without her.’

  Hannah felt a pang of sadness. No man would ever say such glorious words to her.

  ‘Monsieur Grenier and I should go indoors, where we can discuss this matter in private. Miss Pym, will you keep Miss Grenier company?’

  He and the Frenchman walked off, already deep in discussion by the time they had reached the garden gate.

  ‘What have they to discuss?’ demanded Yvonne impatiently. ‘I love him, he loves me, and that is all that matters.’

  ‘I think your papa will want to know about marriage settlements,’ said Hannah. ‘Let us sit down and admire the river. Yes, marriage settlements are very important.’

  ‘He is keeping Lord Ware back from going to York,’ fretted Yvonne. ‘He was going to go into the town and answer all the necessary questions on behalf of the rest of us, so that we should not be plagued further.’

  ‘I am sure your father will not keep him long,’ said Hannah.

  ‘But what if Papa sets his face against the marriage? He might persuade Ware that it would not work, our backgrounds being so very different.’

  ‘You are worrying and worrying to no good avail,’ said Hannah bracingly. Then her boundless curiosity made her ask, ‘Do you call him Ware when you are … er …’

  Yvonne blushed and laughed. ‘I do not even know his Christian name.’

  ‘You should read the social columns more often,’ said Hannah. ‘It is Rupert.’

  ‘Rupert,’ echoed Yvonne dreamily.

  They sat in companionable silence for about half an hour until Yvonne began to feel uneasy again. She was just beginning to say, ‘I think they have had time enough,’ when the marquis and her father came back into the garden.

  Yvonne ran to meet the marquis and stood beside him, looking at her father with wide anxious eyes. He raised his hands. ‘You both have my blessing.’

  Hannah warmly congratulated both. Then Mrs Clarence came into the garden to be told the glad news. ‘Weddings are in the air,’ she said merrily. ‘Miss Pym, dear Hannah, I would be most honoured if you would be my bridesmaid at my wedding. Sir George is to give me away.’

  Hannah agreed while her heart raced. She would be able to stay with Sir George for another whole week. She felt so very happy all at once, she thought she would burst.

  ‘Now I must go to York,’ said the marquis. ‘I will not be very long.’

  ‘And Miss Pym and I will continue our walk,’ said Monsieur Grenier. He bowed and held out his arm. Hannah glanced up at the windows of the farm and saw Sir George looking down at the group in the garden. Instead of waving to him, something prompted her to give Monsieur Grenier a flirtatious look as she took his arm.

  Yvonne was saying a prolonged goodbye to the marquis in the farmyard as Mrs Clarence entered the house. Benjamin was standing moodily in the shadowy hall. ‘If you are looking for Miss Pym, she is out walking with Monsieur Grenier,’ said Mrs Clarence.

  ‘May I ask your advice, modom?’ said Benjamin stiffly.

  ‘Of course. Follow me.’ Mrs Clarence led the way to a little morning-room at the back of the hall. It overlooked the garden. There was no sign of either Hannah or Monsieur Grenier.

  Mrs Clarence sat down in an easy chair and Benjamin stood before her. ‘You may take a chair, Benjamin,’ said Mrs Clarence. ‘If I may say so, the Hannah Pym I knew would not have allowed any servant the licence she gives you. You are an odd sort of footman.’

  ‘Would die for ’er,’ said Benjamin in a choked voice.

  ‘Your loyalty does you credit, young man. Now, how can I help you?’

  Benjamin leaned forward eagerly. ‘It’s like this. Miss Pym is sweet on Sir George an’ it would be a great match.’

  ‘Sir George,’ said Mrs Clarence cautiously, ‘is very fond of Miss Pym. Anyone can see that. But someone like my brother-in-law who has remained a bachelor for so long is usually not romantically inclined.’

  ‘But worth a try,’ said Benjamin eagerly. ‘Surely worth a try.’

  She echoed Benjamin’s earlier thoughts. ‘George has already been in the most romantical situation possible with Miss Pym. He saved her life and shared her adventure. I do not know what else can be done.’

  ‘Jealousy,’ said Benjamin. ‘That might get his mind on the right track.’

  ‘Are you proposing to woo your mistress in an attempt to make Sir George jealous?’

  ‘No!’ Benjamin looked horrified. ‘Not me. That Monsoor Grenier might do the trick.’

  ‘Aha!’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘But subtlety, Benjamin, is what is required. One cannot be too obvious. You must leave matters to me. Now, no one has had any breakfast with all this talk of weddings. Do you know that Lord Ware and Miss Grenier are to marry?’

  ‘No, modom,’ said the footman, ‘but that don’t surprise me. Miss Pym probably arranged it. She’s only to look at a couple and th
ey start thinkin’ of gettin’ wed.’

  ‘Go and fetch Sir George and tell him to come to the dining-room for breakfast. We will save something for Miss Pym and her gallant if they are not back soon.’

  Over a hearty breakfast, Sir George and John Hughes heard all about Yvonne’s forthcoming marriage, and Yvonne sat glowing with happiness.

  ‘But where is our travelling matchmaker?’ asked Sir George. ‘Miss Pym dearly loves to arrange weddings.’

  ‘Miss Pym knows all about it,’ said Mrs Clarence. ‘She is out walking with Monsieur Grenier. They should not be long. Neither of them has breakfasted.’

  But two more hours passed and there was no sign of Hannah Pym. Sir George was beginning to become anxious, wondering if there might be more dangerous Frenchmen lurking about. At last he seized his hat and said he would go out to look for her.

  Hannah and Monsieur Grenier had left the garden a long time ago and wandered off into the countryside, Hannah determined to stay away as long as possible to show Sir George that another man found her company welcome. For his part, Monsieur Grenier felt he had not had such a sympathetic audience in a long time. With all the worries and terrors of France, he had hardly had time even to mourn his wife’s death. They came to a fallen log on top of a rise overlooking a field of corn, which rose and fell under a summer breeze in golden waves like the sea.

  Hannah encouraged him to talk on, wondering all the while whether her absence from the farmhouse had been remarked on by Sir George. To do her justice, she did realize that the Frenchman needed to talk and listened sympathetically and even completely forgot about Sir George when Monsieur Grenier began to cry over the death of his wife and then over the murder of his friends who had been dragged to the guillotine. When he had recovered, she asked him what he would do once Yvonne was married and he replied that he had not had time to think about it. The marquis had told him that he need never work again, but he was used to working and dreaded being idle. Perhaps he might study for the English bar.

  His stomach gave an ungentlemanly rumble and so Hannah reminded him that neither of them had had anything to eat that day and they strolled back amicably to the farmhouse. Monsieur Grenier began to feel happier and happier as they neared the farm. He had talked away all his pain and fears and worries. His future now looked as golden as the day. His daughter was to marry a man she loved. They were safe at last. He did not see Sir George bearing down on them. He turned impulsively to Hannah and cried, ‘You have taken so much of my pain away. You are a wonderful lady! A great lady!’ And he seized the astonished Hannah and kissed her resoundingly on both cheeks. Hannah blushed and laughed and then saw Sir George standing looking at them.

  Sir George’s first incoherent thought was that Hannah had no right to be kissed by anyone while she was wearing the scarf he had given her. The second was that she should not be ambling around the country with a foreigner without even a hat on her head, her thick, sandy, shiny curls making her look appealingly youthful.

  But his diplomat’s eyes quickly veiled his thoughts and he greeted them politely and reminded them they had not breakfasted. He accompanied them back to the inn, thinking crossly that Monsieur Grenier, who had taken Hannah’s arm, did not need to assume such a, well, proprietorial air.

  ‘I do believe,’ said Mrs Clarence over her shoulder to Benjamin, as she watched the trio arrive, ‘that our Miss Pym is doing very well all by herself.’

  Sir George said mildly enough that the air was making him surprisingly hungry again and he thought he would join Miss Pym and Monsieur Grenier at the breakfast table.

  When they had finished eating, Sir George asked Hannah to show him the garden. But they found an odd constraint had fallen between them. Hannah could not talk on in her usual easy way with him, and felt tongue-tied and gauche. She could not seem to shake this odd constraint off, and because of it, during the rest of that day and the following ones, gravitated more and more to Monsieur Grenier’s undemanding company.

  To Sir George’s great irritation, Mrs Clarence appeared to be encouraging Miss Pym to spend more time with Monsieur Grenier than Sir George considered decent. He feared that the marquis would decide to convey Yvonne and her father to London and so he would be encumbered with their company when he himself escorted Miss Pym south, and was relieved when he learned that the marquis had obtained a special licence and planned to wed Yvonne in York a week after Mrs Clarence. His relief was short-lived. Hannah was to be bridesmaid again at Yvonne’s wedding to the marquis.

  The marquis had pressed for a quick wedding, for his passion for Yvonne was growing with every kiss. Monsieur Grenier was elated with happiness at being safe at last and at the sight of his daughter’s joy, but Sir George decided bitterly that the Frenchman’s elation was caused by love for Hannah Pym.

  The day of Mrs Clarence’s wedding arrived. It was to take place in the farmhouse, which had been decorated with garlands for the occasion. No neighbours had been invited, all believing that she and John Hughes were already married. Mrs Clarence had explained she would tell her sons sometime in the future when she thought the moment was right. Even the servants and farm-hands had been sent away for the day.

  Hannah had been gowned in shot silk by Mrs Clarence for her role of bridesmaid, and Sir George reflected she had never looked better. When the simple service was over and they sat down to the wedding breakfast, served to them, in the absence of other servants, by Benjamin, Sir George found that Hannah had been placed next to him while Monsieur Grenier was on her other side. Hannah meticulously conversed to Sir George and Monsieur Grenier, giving each an equal share of her time, but Sir George could not help hearing how easily she chatted to the Frenchman while all her conversation with him was awkward and stilted. He felt quite old and dried up. In the past week, he felt he had aged daily while Hannah appeared to have grown younger.

  He suddenly rose to his feet and announced to the surprised assembly that he had the headache and needed some fresh air. When the door had closed behind him, Monsieur Grenier said quietly to Hannah, ‘My dear friend, I feel you have made that gentleman miserable enough. Why do you not go after him?’

  Hannah looked at the little Frenchman and coloured guiltily. How did he know? How had he guessed? She opened her mouth to protest she did not know what he meant, thought better of it, and quietly left the room.

  She stood a few moments later at the entrance to the garden. Sir George was sitting on the rustic bench by the river. He was hatless and his hair gleamed like silver in the sun. The air was sultry and warm and, to the west, great black clouds were piling up against the sky as if climbing on top of each other. From the distance came a menacing growl of thunder.

  Hannah walked forward and sat down beside him. ‘Is your head better?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Yes, I thank you.’ Sir George looked at the silver buckles on his shoes as if they were the most fascinating things he had ever seen.

  ‘Perhaps I can fetch you something from the house? A posset, perhaps?’

  ‘No, no. It would be better to leave me alone, Miss Pym.’

  ‘Very well.’ She rose sadly to her feet.

  ‘I mean, no, sit down, I mean, well, I did not mean to sound so harsh … I mean … I am a trifle overset.’ He waved a hand at the sky. ‘Storms affect my nerves, I think.’

  Thunder growled and rumbled, nearer now, and a sharp puff of warm wind ruffled the surface of the river.

  Hannah sat down primly, bottom on the very edge of the seat, back ramrod-straight. Her violet silk gown was shot with gold and glinted and shone oddly in the now gloomy green light of the garden under the fast-approaching storm.

  ‘You seem to … to … be very friendly with Monsieur Grenier,’ said Sir George.

  ‘He is a charming and sympathetic gentleman,’ said Hannah. ‘He likes talking to me, I think.’

  He turned to her. ‘Miss Pym, as your friend and advisor, I must take it upon myself to counsel you to be cautious. Marriage to a foreigner can be
… well … cannot be a good thing for an Englishwoman.’

  ‘English royalty marry foreigners the whole time,’ said Hannah flatly.

  ‘What the bleedin’ ’ell’s goin’ on?’ shouted Benjamin, jumping up and down in frustration behind the backs of the watchers now crowded around an upstairs window of the farmhouse that overlooked the garden.

  ‘Nothing yet,’ said the new Mrs Hughes over her shoulder. ‘And if they don’t come in soon, they are both going to get very wet.’

  ‘You know what I mean, Miss Pym,’ Sir George was saying. ‘I am concerned for your welfare, your future.’

  ‘Do not worry, Sir George,’ said Hannah, ‘I am surely old enough to look after myself.’

  ‘Oh, indeed, madam? And what would have become of you in that hut if I had not come along? You lead an irresponsible life. Traipsing up and down the length and breadth of England with that popinjay of a footman.’

  ‘Now, sir, you go too far. Benjamin is a brave and loyal servant and I will not have a word said against him. He has volunteered to settle down with me in some poky cottage in the country, and that is a great sacrifice for such a clever and fun-loving fellow.’

  Sir George looked at her, appalled. ‘I was wrong. It is not Monsieur Grenier you plan to marry but your own footman.’

  ‘What are you about?’ raged Hannah. ‘What has come over you? You know you are talking fustian. What on earth is the matter with you?’

  ‘I’m in love with you, demme,’ roared Sir George, ‘and I don’t know what to do.’

  Hannah looked at him in sheer amazement. ‘Well, you could try marrying me, for a start.’

  ‘Miss Pym … Hannah … do you mean you would accept me?’

  A great crack of thunder sounded overhead. ‘Sir George,’ said Hannah patiently, ‘I think I have been in love with you since that morning when you found me standing by the window of Thornton Hall, watching the stage-coach go past.’

  He drew her into his arms and bent his head and kissed her gently on the mouth. Another crack of thunder drowned out the cheer from the farmhouse window behind them. It was pleasant kissing Hannah Pym, thought Sir George dreamily, settling her more comfortably in his arms, warm and sweet like the air around them and lit with flashes of lightning like the sky above.