Latimer had already prepared himself for this cross-examination and, with a perfectly straight face, he replied that, thanks to Miss Cunningham’s patience, he had, indeed, managed to do quite a bit of work, as well as visiting the mailing office while Georgina had made some purchases at the drapers.
‘And you know how long that sort of thing takes,’ he added, with a practised grimace. ‘But seeing that Miss Cunningham sat waiting for me for such an age, I thought it would be a might unchivalrous of me to complain about any dilly-dallying on her part.’
‘Quite so,’ laughed Radley. ‘The ladies certainly take their time choosing their frills and furbelows—but what I actually meant was that you seem to be missing your bag of tricks—did you leave it somewhere?’
‘Oh, lord!’ Latimer sat up in dismay. ‘I must have left it in the mailing office—or possibly on a church pew. What can I have been thinking of?’
‘What indeed?’ replied Radley absently, taking out his watch and peering at it under the light from the carriage lantern. ‘Never mind, old chap, I’ll have a boy look for it in the morning. Wouldn’t want you to lose all the work you put in today, now would we?’
For a moment Latimer wasn’t sure if the other man was being sarcastic or merely complaisant but, since he had no reason to suppose that Radley had any reason to suspect his movements, he settled for the latter.
Chapter Seven
Having plied the laughingly dismissive Radley with effusive thanks and bidden him a fond farewell, the two girls sought out their mother. They found Mrs Cunningham in the sitting room, eagerly awaiting an account of their day’s activities. Katharine, although her bed beckoned, was still nagged by the feeling that Georgina’s plan had somehow failed to achieve its desired outcome and, in order to protect her sister from any direct questioning by their mother, she launched hastily into an enthusiastic acclamation of Radley’s generosity and good-heartedness.
Mrs Cunningham, having laughingly observed that it was clear that Georgina was not going to be allowed to get a word in edgewise, surrendered her entire attention to her younger daughter.
‘For, after all,’ she murmured, her voice gently sympathetic, ‘it was meant to be your day, my dear, so I must have your description of it—for I am certain that your sister enjoyed herself at least half as much as you did!’
Georgina managed to smile and nod at her mother, but did not interrupt Katharine’s narrative which, as well as being highly descriptive, was extremely long drawn out.
‘And now,’ confessed the younger girl eventually, ‘I am absolutely exhausted.’ Getting to her feet, she raised her arms above her head and stretched in a most unladylike manner. ‘And it is so hot and clammy, too—Andrew is always in the right about the weather!’ Yawning inelegantly, she then declared that it was surely high time they were all in bed.
Since her mother and sister were both of a similar mind, the lamps were quickly extinguished and they made their way into the hall. As they collected the night candlesticks that Becky had left out for them on the hall table, however, Mrs Cunningham suddenly remembered that a letter had arrived in the girls’ absence and, picking up the sealed missive, she handed it to her eldest daughter.
‘It completely slipped my mind,’ she said. ‘It looks to be from Nell—it has her grandfather’s frank. We haven’t heard from her for several weeks—do let me know how she goes on.’
Georgina’s eyes lit up with pleasure and, taking the letter from her mother, she dropped it into her reticule, intending to read it as soon as she reached her bedroom. However, after having bidden their mother affectionate ‘goodnights’, and the two girls were alone in the sanctuary of their own room, Katharine’s vitality was suddenly and mysteriously restored and she immediately exhorted her sister to give a full account of her venture. Her eyes, which had, at first, sparkled with eager anticipation at her sister’s promising rendition of the meeting with their uncle, gradually widened and grew round with horror as Georgina briefly related the shocking events that had followed.
‘How perfectly horrid and how absolutely terrifying for you!’ Shuddering, she put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. ‘Shall we have to meet this man again? Surely there must be someone to whom we can lodge a complaint?’
Georgina shook her head. ‘Uncle Arthur was correct. It would cause too much of a scandal, which is probably how the beast manages to get away with his behaviour—he might even suggest that I had encouraged him!’
‘Goodness! I hadn’t thought of that,’ Katharine admitted. ‘Ugly gossip is the last thing Mama needs—but it is so unfair on you. Whatever will you do?’
‘I shall try to put it all behind me,’ her sister replied firmly then, turning to face Katharine, she hesitated for just a moment before finally blurting out, ‘There is something else—rather silly, really—but Mr Latimer seems to think I am involved with John Mansell!’
‘John Mansell! That’s ridiculous!’
‘I know it is, but he chanced to see me speaking to him outside the church—and, for some reason, he jumped to the wrong conclusion.’
‘What does it matter what Mr Latimer thinks?’ Katharine gestured impatiently. ‘He will only be here for a short while and—’ She stopped in mid-sentence, having caught sight of the expression on her sister’s face. ‘But it does matter to you, doesn’t it, Gina?’ she said, suddenly awestruck as the staggering realisation dawned on her. ‘You haven’t—you can’t have—fallen in love with the fellow, surely?’
‘And why not, pray?’ Georgina tossed her head defiantly. ‘You don’t have a monopoly on such things, you know.’
Katharine laughed. ‘No, I know I don’t, you goose, but you have forever turned your nose up at my “romantic nonsense”—your words, as I’m sure you will recall. I just think that you might have chosen a more suitable match.’
Georgina turned her head away with such a desolate expression on her face that Katharine dropped the hairbrush she was holding and flew to her sister’s side.
‘Dearest Gina,’ she begged, throwing her arms around her. ‘You must not mind me—I didn’t mean to upset you—please excuse my foolish tongue.’
‘Don’t be such a widgeon,’ countered Georgina, returning her sister’s embrace. ‘What you say is perfectly true, of course. I know I am being stupid but…’ she paused and again her eyes grew bleak ‘…I really don’t seem to be able to help myself.’
Katharine smiled with the wisdom of one well versed in such matters. ‘One can’t, you know—and the man is devilish handsome, after all, as well as very charming.’ She tilted her head and cast her sister a sympathetic look. ‘But it won’t serve, you know, Gina. You met him for the first time barely a week ago and we know precious little about him. Andrew is convinced that he is hiding something. He has cleverly managed to avoid telling us anything of substance about himself and one has to wonder why. I wondered if he might be some sort of fugitive from justice, but Andrew says not, although he does think he might be running away from something—bad debts, probably, he says, or maybe a wife and four children!’
Georgina eyed her in astonishment and burst out laughing. ‘Don’t be so absurd, Kate! You read too many bad novels! It is quite clear to me that Mr Latimer is simply down on his luck; many servicemen have been left without occupation since the war ended—the towns are teeming with unemployed exsoldiers. Even Radley had difficulty in finding work for Mrs Jacklin’s boys when they returned.’
‘That’s true.’ Katharine nodded, climbing into bed with a yawn. ‘But you must be careful, Gina! It isn’t like you to be so easily gulled. You are usually the first to winkle out a Ban-bury tale—and I just know that you would never give your heart to a charlatan!’
Georgina was silent, unwilling either to confirm or deny her sister’s doughty avowal and eventually Katharine, her mind gradually drifting into a state of tranquil euphoria, fell fast asleep.
The threatened thunderstorm finally broke in the early hours of Sunday morning. Unable to sl
eep, as the air became increasingly humid, Georgina had tossed and turned restlessly in their shared bed, throwing off the covers in a futile attempt to cool her hot limbs. By her side Katharine slumbered peacefully on, exhausted after what had been, for her, a most satisfactory day. To Georgina’s amazement, her sister appeared to be oblivious, not only of the unbearably clammy heat, but also to the subsequent pandemonium that raged in the skies above their heads.
At last, unable to cope with the rivulets of perspiration running down her face and neck, Georgina rose from the bed and made her way across the room to the window seat. Although the rain was lashing down in streaming torrents, she unlatched the window and leaned out, revelling in the soothing sensation of the cold wetness as it drenched her skin and hair.
As her body gradually cooled, she pondered once more over the words her sister had uttered. Katharine was quite right, of course. How could she have allowed herself to be so affected by the man’s smile—how juvenile! She really must pull herself together! Even if he remained at the cottage for the whole of the summer, he would certainly be gone by September. She heaved a great sigh, for she knew that he was bound to leave eventually and was not so foolish as to believe that there could be any future with him. And even though it was quite clear that her feelings were not reciprocated, she thought wistfully, he had seemed to seek out her company. If only she could find a way to recapture the teasing bonhomie that had been building between them, she would endeavour to be satisfied with just his friendship during the remainder of his stay. Her brow furrowed as she recalled Latimer’s expression of stony disbelief at her protest over his accusations about John Mansell. How on earth could he have possibly imagined that there was anything between them? Why, the poor fellow was merely enquiring as to whether she had heard anything from Nell. Oh, my goodness—Nell’s letter! She scrambled to her feet and, ignoring the dampness that had seeped around the shoulders of her nightgown, snatched a towel from the washstand and proceeded to rub her hair, which, by this time, was wringing wet. She then relit the stub of her bedside candle and, retrieving her reticule from the dressing table, she pulled out the unread missive and made her way back to the window seat.
She turned the letter over and broke the seal, gratified that their childhood friend had finally found the time to send them the latest news of her London visit. Limited to perusing its contents with the help of only one guttering candle however, it was with some difficulty that Georgina was eventually able to make out the hastily scribbled words, especially since the author had twice crossed the page in her efforts to restrict the communication to one sheet of paper.
However, when she finally laid the letter down her face wore a very troubled expression. It seemed that her friend would soon be home—was probably on her way even at this moment! John Mansell would be overjoyed, of course, but Georgina was saddened at the thought of how badly poor, sensitive Nell must have suffered at the angry reproaches and recriminations that her parents would have levied against their wilful daughter. In view of the vast sums of money the Cornwells had laid out on the ambitious project, their castigations would have been particularly harsh, without a doubt. A business venture with little chance of success—the very subject of her conversation with Latimer, Georgina thought, with a wry smile. Not that Nell had ever wanted to go to London at all for, as Georgina and Katharine had both known for some time, her heart had been given to Compton Lacey’s young curate long ago. She had begged her parents to allow her to marry him but, at the time, the young man was without foreseeable prospects and the Cornwells had always craved much higher objectives for their lovely daughter. Georgina sighed. Now Nell was being brought home in disgrace, having failed to secure the exalted match that her parents so yearned for.
She folded the letter and returned it to her reticule. She would share the contents with her sister in the morning and endeavour to pass its message on to Mansell after the service. Stripping off her damp nightgown, she changed into a fresh one out of the press and snuffed out the remains of the candle. The increasing lightening of the sky on the eastern horizon indicated that dawn was already beginning to break as she climbed back into bed but, thankfully, the air had grown much cooler and, in spite of the considerable number of problems that beset her, she was so exhausted that she soon fell into a deep, though infinitely troubled, sleep.
The following morning the rain was still falling with a dreary intensity and, as the hour for the morning service drew near, Becky, their long-suffering cook-cum-housekeeper, was to be found scrabbling in the under-stairs cupboard, endeavouring to find suitable waterproofs for the whole family.
‘Not enough galoshes for everyone,’ she panted, emerging from the depth of the glory hole, her arms full of an assortment of oiled silk capes, ancient calashes and shabby umbrellas. ‘Can’t recall rain like this for some time—you girls had best huddle under your father’s old ’brella. Dan’l and me can make do with our felt cloaks. Be a rare bit of drying to do when we get home,’ she added, depositing her booty on a nearby settle and wiping her dusty hands on her apron. ‘I’d best go and bank up the range.’
Katharine ferreted amongst the pile and drew back empty-handed, her nose wrinkling up in distaste. ‘They’re all so worn out and dusty,’ she exclaimed. ‘I shall just wear my pelisse—our hems will be soaked, in any event.’
‘That’s very true, but do take Papa’s umbrella, too,’ exhorted Georgina. ‘I shall wear my old red cardinal—it is so voluminous that I will be able to carry my bonnet inside until we arrive. Mama must have this oiled cape and these galoshes—the smaller ones will fit the children. We shall just have to manage with our walking boots.’ She opened the front door and peered out. ‘The lane doesn’t look too muddy—do you want the “high-lows”?’
Katharine cast a disdainful glance at the wooden iron-hooped pattens her sister had indicated. ‘Thank you, no,’ she replied, huffily. ‘I fell over and bruised my knee the last time I wore them, if you recall!’
With Mrs Cunningham exhorting them all to make haste, the whole group, including the Harpers, was eventually suitably garbed in a miscellany of protective clothing and was ready to depart. Georgina, having been told to make sure that the front door was carefully locked behind them, was the last to leave the house.
Head well down under the hood of her short cloak, in a vain attempt to keep the rain off her face, she clutched her prayer book and bonnet carefully beneath the folds of the ancient red cardinal and hurried up the lane after her family. She was suddenly aware that another pair of boots was splashing in the puddles close behind. Raising her eyes and blinking off the raindrops, she perceived, to her astonishment, that Latimer, holding a huge umbrella above both their heads, was striding along beside her.
‘You put me in mind of Little Red Riding Hood,’ he ventured in a cheery voice, although not altogether sure of his reception. ‘But, if I promise not to eat you, may I accompany you to the service?’
Georgina pushed back the hood of her cloak and smiled up at him. ‘I doubt that anyone could mistake you for the big, bad wolf, Mr Latimer.’
‘Now, that is a load off my mind,’ he returned, a wide grin on his face. ‘How about the woodcutter? I believe I could do a pretty good line in dashing to the rescue.’
‘You are doing rather well at the moment, thank you,’ Georgina assured him, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘That is the most splendid umbrella.’
He nodded. ‘It is amazingly large, isn’t it? I found it in Mr Blanchard’s hallstand. Just the job for this sort of weather. I trust the storm did not keep you awake?’
‘Not the storm,’ answered Georgina, nimbly skirting a wide puddle in their path. ‘I found the heat rather oppressive, but storms themselves are rather magnificent, don’t you agree?’
‘Absolutely,’ he concurred. ‘All that unleashing of power. I stood at my window and watched it for over an hour.’
‘Why, so did I!’ she exclaimed, shooting a sideways glance at him. ‘I actually h
ung my head out of the window and got soaked,’ she confided, her wet face wreathed in a conspiratorial smile.
Latimer, returning her smile, observed with a queer pang how the raindrops on her eyelashes were reminiscent of yesterday’s tears. And yet how casually cheerful she seemed today. He, himself, had spent another dismal night racked with the increasing perplexities of his masquerade. More than once he had reviewed his ambivalent feelings towards Georgina, trying to make sense of them. After a considerable inward tussle he had finally reached the conclusion that he might well have misjudged the situation in the porch—after all, he had been kept waiting for rather a long time and had been extremely irritated. He was prepared, or, to be truthful, quite eager to give her the benefit of any doubts that may have assailed him at the time.
When they reached the village church he realised that Georgina was making her way round to the rear door, which had always been the family’s normal mode of entry to the Reverend Cunningham’s services.
‘Would I be permitted to join you in your family pew?’ he asked diffidently, as he accompanied her into the vestry. ‘As I am a stranger here, I might need some help in following the order of service—they do differ somewhat in different parts of the country.’
‘Do they really?’ Georgina sounded surprised. ‘I didn’t know that. I would have thought…’ She hesitated, then continued, ‘But of course, I’m sure Mama will have no objections if you join us. Now, if you will excuse me I must make myself presentable.’
She turned away to divest herself of her cumbersome mantle, hanging it alongside the many others that hung on the hooks in the vestry and, running her fingers through her damp ringlets, she settled her small bonnet firmly on the back of her head.
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