Friends and Lovers (12 page)

Mrs. Pudge brought him to me. “Your mother is up in the cheese room, rotating the cheeses, so his lordship says he’ll talk to you,” was her countrified manner of announcing our guest.

There was no trusting the smile Menrod wore. Had it been satirical, I would have expected a hot blast of vituperation to follow soon. It was nothing of the sort. He looked genuinely amused, so unusual an expression to be seen on his dour face that I demanded an explanation for it.

“Why, one does not come to offer congratulations, wearing a frown, Miss Harris,” he replied. He looked around at my specimens, selected a rattan chair, and waited for me to be seated. I remained standing.

“You spend a good deal of time here, I think?” he asked patiently. “You might be a personification of Spring, amidst all this verdure. Quite the symbol of a spring day.”

“I more usually think of you as a whole month of spring—March, with its gusty howls. I mistrust your coming in like a lamb this morning. It hints at a more ferocious departure.”

“I fully expect we will be drawing our daggers before I leave, but we will do it elsewhere, so as not to shock your plants.”

“Kind of you. They are not accustomed to much violence, which is why I prefer them to most people. They are never ill-natured or abusive. They behave themselves with great propriety, and prosper with a little tending and affection.”

“Affection?”
he asked, his eyes widening. “Who would not?”

“Care, is what I mean.”

“When a lady begins to lavish her scanty affections on a
plant,
it augurs some unhinging of the mental faculties. I begin to comprehend the announcement in this morning’s paper.”

“What announcement is that?” I asked, noticing he carried the Reading journal.

He handed it to me, folded with page three at the front. He pointed to a small article in the gossipy part of the sheet, which is called the “Social Notes.” I read with considerable astonishment that Mrs. Harris was happy to announce the betrothal of her daughter Gwendolyn to Mr. Everett, of Oakdene, Reading. No words were possible. I just stared, my mouth opening and closing like a newly-hatched sparrow.

“Your shame is not of the sort forecast by me after all,” he rattled on easily, enjoying himself very much. “No suspicious weekends in London after all, eh, Miss Harris? Tell me, am I to congratulate or commiserate with you on the announcement? It appears to have taken you by surprise.”

“This is impossible! There is some mistake! I have not accepted Mr. Everett’s offer. Who did this? Menrod—is this
your
work?” I asked, with some temporary derangement of the brain.

“No, no. A few weekends with him in London was the best I had to offer. Word of it must have gotten around, and he is doing the right thing by you.” His thin lips were stretched wide in a smile. His eyes were crinkled at the edges with laughter.

“He would never have undertaken to have published this without my consent. I
told
him I did not accept, very positively.”

“He actually did offer, did he? I half thought it was only a threat, to make me hand over my children.”

“They are not
your
children. They are
ours.”

“A novel notion—but it is Everett who has won your hand.”

“Mine as much as yours, is what I meant,” I added hastily, as his smile stretched ever broader at my incoherence.

“What a delightful mystery. Who can have done it?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“It must be Mama. I’ll go up to her this instant.”

I dashed out of the conservatory, up the demmed dark, low stairway to the cheese room, under the eaves. I did not notice Menrod had taken upon himself to follow, till I heard his head bump on the tamarack beam, and heard the undignified expletive that followed the accident.

“You must excuse our stairway. It was used to be brighter, till our landlord took the ludicrous idea to enclose it.”

“People must have been shorter two hundred years ago,” he mumbled.

The attic stairs have a greater clearance than the others. We got to the cheese room without further mishap. “Mama, have you seen this?” I asked, shoving the newspaper into her hands.

She took it, read, frowned, then smiled beatifically. “So you have come to your senses at last and accepted him. Good. I could not be happier. That will teach Men—”

Menrod reached the top of the stairs at that point. I was six stairs before him. She came to an embarrassed halt. “I thought you were alone, Wendy,” she said.

“Menrod brought the paper to me. You did not send this notice in to them?”

“I? How should I? I didn’t know a thing about it till you showed me this. But there is no harm in an announcement after all. We would have had to do it sooner or later.”

“I am not engaged! I told you I don’t plan to marry him. Who could have done it?”

“Mr. Culligan?” Menrod suggested mischievously.

“That’s who it was. I shall drive straight into Reading and fire him.”

I turned sharply and bounded down the stairs, along the hall to the next set of stairs. I heard Menrod coming after me, hastening his steps, but did not wait for him. His bump on the flight down was harder than on the way up, because of our haste. I really feared, or hoped, he had knocked himself out. He was sent reeling back, and wore a red mark on his forehead when he reached the landing.

“You forgot to duck. What a pity,” I exclaimed. He glared mutely while drawing out a handkerchief to dry his forehead for blood. Finding none, he said, “It is nothing. A tap only. You are going to Reading now, at once?”

“The sooner the better.”

“I am headed that way myself. I shall take you.”

“Thank you. Your team will make better time than ours. I want my anger to be at full boil when I arrive.”

“My being in the carriage with you will assure it. Are you not going to wear a bonnet?” he asked, when I took a step toward the door without one.

“Of course I am.”

I went to the closet to fetch the necessary items, rammed my navy-blue felt on my head, accepted Menrod’s help with my pelisse, and went out the door.

“I shall sue him. Is it possible to sue a lawyer?” I asked.

“Certainly it is. They are not above the law. It is also possible to knock their teeth down their throats.”

“I do not plan to attack him physically,” I said, as he held the carriage door for me.

“I owe him a little something as well. He has been propagating more than one unfounded rumor.”

“Oh, you mean about Nel Scott, I daresay. I hope you believe I had nothing to do with that odious lie. In fact, I ought to apologize, I suppose, though I had no way of knowing what he was about.”

“Yes, you ought.”

“I am sorry. I mean that, even if I am cross. It was an awful thing for him to do.”

“I accept your apology, even if I too am cross.”

After a few moments’ cross silence, I asked, “Who was the father, or do you know?”

“We have the culprit. A peddler she met in town. He would have married her, but for the problem of a wife and a few children at home. Another inaccuracy in the story is my having discharged her. She wanted to return to her family. It seems there was a lad so undemanding as to offer her marriage, despite her condition.”

“And her looks—the squint, I mean.”

“I did not see the groom, but if rumor is correct, he cannot afford to be choosy in the looks department. ‘A face like a bulldog,' my footman told me. This is quite a place for peculiar matches, is it not?”

“Your own promises to be the only respectable alliance in town.”

“My
marriage?” he asked, his supple brows lifting in two arches. “I had best have another look at the newspaper. I stopped reading when I came to your notice.”

“I have not seen it announced publicly. When Lady Menrod spoke of the ball, and Lady Althea extending her visit, sending off for her mount, I thought...”

“What?” he demanded, staring wildly.

“Lady Menrod said... actually, she did not say anything about a wedding. We only assumed that as her cousin is to extend her visit at the same time as you are at home, there must be a wedding in prospect.”

“It is the first time I have heard about it.”

“It was just a surmise.”

“I mean about extending the visit, and having a ball. They will want to use the Manor for that.”

I did not tell him of his stepmother’s duplicity, her telling us he had offered the use of the Manor. “Of course the length of her visit is nothing to me,” he went on. “She is my stepmother’s guest, not mine.”

I examined him closely, wondering if I had misjudged the man. If he was telling the truth, and his enthusiastic tone suggested he was, then he was not planning to form a family unit to get the children after all. I would not mention Culligan’s precedents to him, in case he was unaware of the efficacy of this ploy.

While I had his ear, I determined to discover whether he, unlike I, had any letters from Peter indicating the father’s wish that Menrod stand guardian, in case of an early death. Later on, I said, very casually, “Did you hear often from Peter when he was In India?”

“No, he was an indifferent correspondent. He dropped a note from time to time. You heard often from your sister, I should think?” There was a wariness about him that warned me he was angling for the same information as myself.

“Yes, great, lengthy epistles, telling us everything.”

“Did you keep them?”

“Yes, I read them often still. They are full of interesting stories about India.”

His wariness increased. “I would be interested to read them, if you have no objections?” he suggested tentatively.

I swallowed my smile as best I could. “Save yourself the bother. There is no mention of the children coming to Mama and me, in case she should die. That is what you wish to discover, I know.”

“I don’t suppose you were truly interested to know what kind of a correspondent Peter was either.”

“Not in the least. Am I correct to conclude you have nothing in writing indicating his wishes in the matter?”

“Nothing. He was so young, he had not thought of death at all. It was a great tragedy, was it not, the two of them going down together in that boat? It was supposed to be a pleasure cruise. You never know when your turn is coming up, hiding around the bend, to snatch you.”

An uncontrollable shudder seized me at his lugubrious talk. “Must you be so morose? Here it is a beautiful spring day, and all you can speak of is dying.”

“We can speak of anything you like. I just happened to make one comment about death. It is not something you can hide from, you know. It is coming to us all.”

“Not for a few years yet, I hope.”

“You know not the day nor the hour.”

“You are beginning to sound like Mrs. Pudge.”

“I had not taken her for such a wise woman. I believe it is why men and women marry and have children, in a futile effort to cheat death, to have some bit of themselves still alive in the world. It is very likely why you are so fond of your namesake, Gwendolyn, and why I have become so quickly attached to Ralph. He looks much as I did when I was a child, you know. The dark Hazelton coloring, with something of his mother in his withdrawn nature.”

“Ralph is not withdrawn,” I answered quickly, but did not correct him as to my great love for my namesake. “He is very personable, easy to talk to, once you get to know him. Hettie used to write that he was rambunctious. It is his parents’ deaths that has made him a little shy.”

“He is more girlish than is good for a boy. It could become a serious problem for him later, when he has to go to school. He takes well to sports, though.”

“To riding in particular?”

“Yes, that was my meaning.”

“He is much too young to be put on horseback.”

“Pony back is all he will be put on for a few years yet.”

“I still think he is too young, but I don’t expect you to listen to anything I have to say.”

“I don’t pretend to be an expert on children. I would be interested to hear your opinions, particularly with regard to Gwendolyn.”

The only thing I had to say about her was that she was a saucy baggage, and I could hardly say that. “She is a great favorite with her grandma, because of her resemblance to Hettie. She has a winning manner.”

“She has, and is well aware of it, despite her youth. She has already cozened me into providing her with an unending supply of sweets, though I know perfectly well they are not good for her. I don’t mean to spoil the child, however, if that is what you are thinking.”

“No irreparable harm will be done in six weeks.”

This remark caused some constraint to settle over us. I used the silence to form my plans. I preferred that Menrod not accompany me to Culligan’s office. The reason for the engagement notice would arise, and it was not something I wished my opponent to be aware of. A visit to Oakdene was also essential. I would ask him to let me off at Culligan’s office, and hire a hackney cab to take me to Oakdene, from which spot Mr. Everett would see me home,

“You can drop me off here,” I said as we entered the block of Reading where my solicitor had his shabby office.

“Drop you off? My business is with Culligan too.”

“Oh.”

We alit together, walking slowly to the doorway, while Menrod surveyed the squalid surroundings, his lip curled in distaste. “Whatever made you select this fellow?” he asked.

“He came highly recommended,” I replied, quickening my steps past the mangy cat with a cod’s head between his teeth, the dusty windows, from which a toothless hag peered out, the knobless door.

“You could break your neck here,” he went on complaining as we felt our way up the dark, steep steps to the second story.

“I have learned to handle a dark stairway.”

Culligan removed his boots from his desk top when we entered, to make us welcome. He neither recognized Menrod nor gave me time to introduce him. “You have come to congratulate me,” was his smiling speech. “All a part of the job. We'll get those kiddies away from their uncle yet, see if we don’t, Miss Harris. You’ve heard what is being said of him? All the rumors set afoot without the need of an outright lie being told.”