Lady of Lincoln (11 page)

‘But we should then be without her local knowledge,’ Sir Gareth objected. ‘As for the weather, we do not know what it may do tomorrow, either. Alan, are you engaged three days hence?’

‘No, I am not,’ Mr Trimmer replied.

‘Then let it be for Friday,’ the baronet suggested, in such a positive tone that everyone else agreed at once, although Mrs Hughes looked a little grudging.

It was agreed that Oliver should ride with his father and the gentlemen, thus making more space in the barouche. ‘James will make a fuss, no doubt, but he must learn that seniority carries certain privileges,’ said Mrs Trimmer.

A short time after this, Emily begged leave to be excused. ‘I am expected at home,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the lemonade.’

Sir Gareth and Mr Trimmer both stood as she made her farewells, but to her surprise, the baronet accompanied her to the front door. ‘Thank you for this morning,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘The climb was invigorating, and the views were
magnificent
.’

‘It was no trouble,’ she replied, nervously conscious of the feeling of his large, capable hand enveloping her small one. ‘I am always looking for excuses to climb the tower.’

‘I shall send word to let you know on Thursday, what time we shall be setting out,’ he responded, lifting her hand and
kissing
it lightly.

As she walked back to her own house, she cradled the hand as if it were something precious. His touch had sent tingles all along her spine. She reminded herself that Mrs Hughes, who clearly knew him well, had said that he was a flirt whose word was not to be trusted. This description did not match with the man who had chatted so easily with his nephews, and admired the cathedral and the views with such genuine interest. Unfortunately, she could also recall his bland assertion that he had been admiring her boots when she was sure that he had been looking at her ankles! Of course that was very shocking, but ruefully, she had to confess that she was no better, for, as she had followed him down the stairs, she had spent a
considerable
amount of time admiring his splendid shoulders.

He was just flirting, she told herself sternly, and no doubt he would have done so even more, had he known the shocking nature of her thoughts. Well, she would have the chance to observe him in Gainsborough to discover if he displayed the same flirtatious tendencies. The only problem with this
reasoning
was that if he decided he was going to flirt with Mrs Hughes, she really didn’t want to watch. 

T
wo days before the outing to Gainsborough was due to take place, Mrs Trimmer came round to see Emily. Canon Whittaker was at home and he stayed to talk with his daughter’s visitor for a little while before going to his study.

Once the ladies were alone, Mrs Trimmer said rather
diffidently
, ‘I was wondering, Emily, what you were intending to wear for our outing to Gainsborough?’

‘To wear?’ Emily echoed, uncomprehendingly. This was a subject to which she never usually gave very much thought, partly because her father had always discouraged any vanity in dress, and partly because she did not have a great deal to choose from. She had never had a dress allowance; had never dreamed of having such a thing, and there were no female relatives in her family to suggest to her father that such provision should be made for her. She saved what she could from the housekeeping money, and then bought for her own needs. Almost inevitably, everything that she purchased tended to be hard-wearing and sensible, and although she never looked shabby, she never looked fashionable either.

No one amongst her acquaintance ever said very much about her clothes, not even Dr Boyle. To tell the truth, she had got out of the habit of thinking about them. It had seemed as if from the moment that she had been judged to be on the shelf, that as far as society was concerned she had more or less disappeared.

Aurelia had thought long and hard about coming to see Emily, for she did not want to say anything that would seem like unkind criticism. But there was no denying that Emily dressed ‘old’ for her years, and Aurelia had not liked the way that Annis Hughes had regarded her friend with such thinly veiled contempt.

Mrs Hughes was not exactly a young widow. In fact, Aurelia suspected that there was not such a large gap in age between her and Sir Gareth, at forty, as she would have liked others to believe. But she knew how to make the best of herself, and there was no denying that she was a very attractive woman. Had her reputation been good, Aurelia would, she told herself, have nobly allowed her brother to follow his inclinations if they lay in Mrs Hughes’s direction.

Unfortunately, however, there were some rather unsavoury tales going around concerning that lady; whilst some of them could be dismissed as mere gossip, others came from a more reliable source.

The only child of Theodore and Rosemary Bing, Annis Bing had begun her adult life by following a conventionally
acceptable
path and becoming engaged to the son of a local landowner. Her parents had been very satisfied with this match. Before the marriage could take place, however the young lady had become infatuated with one Granville Hunter, a notorious libertine. She had permitted his attentions causing her fiancé to react with a baffled distress that he could not hide. Inevitably, the engagement was broken, and Miss Bing married Mr Hunter in the teeth of her parents’ opposition.

The newly married couple went to live in London, where they proceeded to spend freely, gamble recklessly, and flirt outrageously. Eventually, Hunter succumbed to the rigours of his way of life, leaving his widow to lavish huge sums on mourning attire, and then to continue her career with
undiminished
enthusiasm.

For a time, widowhood and a number of loose connections
suited her very well, but her inheritance was not bottomless, and soon she began to look around her for a wealthy husband.

The late Mr Hughes had been a wealthy man, with a father in trade and a mother from the ranks of the aristocracy. When she had met him, he was a grieving widower, with a son and daughter both still in the schoolroom.

Mrs Trimmer had been acquainted with the wife of the vicar of the parish in which Mr Hughes resided. This lady had
written
to her about the callously manipulative way in which Mrs Hunter had sought to entrap Mr Hughes, persuading him into marriage before he had even finished his period of mourning.

The new Mrs Hughes had insisted on continuing a life of unbridled gaiety in London, regardless of the fact that this was not her husband’s preference at all. She spent money more freely than ever, attending every possible function and, it was rumoured, taking lovers. Again, Mrs Trimmer had more than gossip to rely upon, for the brother of a friend of hers had become entangled with the lady, and her friend had written, telling her of the affair.

The marriage had not lasted long. Mr Hughes’s heart had had a weakness that no one had ever suspected, and within three years he was dead. No sooner had he passed away than his widow packed both of the children off to school, with the instruction that they were not to come home, even during the holidays, until they were grown up.

Now, rumours were going about that Mrs Hughes might like to change her name again, but that this time she was hoping for a title.

Decidedly this was not the kind of person that Mrs Trimmer wanted to see married to her adored elder brother. She was far too wise to say anything against the lady, however, knowing that such criticism might have the very wrong kind of effect. Nevertheless she did long to see him settled as happily as she was herself with her husband Alan, and she could not resist doing a little match-making.

She had thought at first that Jennifer Cummings might do nicely for him. But on subsequent occasions when she had met the girl, both at her own house when Mrs Cummings had called, and at the Cummingses’ home when she had returned the courtesy, she had revised her opinion. Jennifer was a pretty girl who would no doubt blossom into a charming young woman. At present, however, she was exactly the kind of
debutante
with whom Gareth had recently become very bored, and his manner towards her was decidedly avuncular. Slowly and surely, Mrs Trimmer was coming to the conclusion that Emily might do very well.

For one thing, she was unquestionably a lady, and the baronet appeared to enjoy her company. She had also, through sheer innocence, Mrs Trimmer suspected, employed with him none of the tactics that many society ladies had tried. There were no veiled glances from Emily; no calculated stumbling; no grasping of his arm and holding on for longer than necessary. As a
consequence
, she had quite unintentionally succeeded in intriguing him. If Gareth decided that he wanted to pursue the canon’s daughter, then he would have to do all the work, which would, his sister decided, be very good for him.

True, Emily was past the first blush of youth but what did that really matter? Of course, Gareth would need an heir, but then Aurelia herself was much the same age as Emily and was secretly hoping that she might very soon have more news of a delicate nature to impart to her husband.

Clearly, Emily was not used to mixing in polite society, although there was nothing to blush for in her company manners, but then Aurelia sometimes wondered how much her brother really enjoyed London. True, he was popular and played his part in the season each year, but he also seemed to be happy spending time on his estate in Nottinghamshire, where he was a conscientious landlord. Emily would certainly find much to fulfil her in the traditional role of the lady of the manor, visiting the tenants, supporting schools, and
encouraging 
young people to learn trades.

Just as Aurelia was too wise to criticize Mrs Hughes, however, she was far too astute to promote Emily’s cause openly. Instead, she had made it her business to invite Dr Boyle to go with them to Gainsborough, and he had accepted with alacrity Now, it only remained to make sure that Emily would be attired in something more becoming than her usual sombre gowns. Boyle must be made to be more attentive; if he seemed more interested in her, then Gareth could not fail to notice it. It would do him no harm to be reminded that Emily already had a suitor.

‘I am told that tomorrow will be a warm day,’ said Mrs Trimmer in pursuit of her goal. ‘I am concerned that you may be too hot if you do not have anything lighter to wear. May I come and see what you are thinking of putting on?’

Emily had never had a friend with whom to compare clothes or discuss outfits, and so it was with a feeling very like
excitement
that she escorted Mrs Trimmer upstairs to her bedroom and opened the cupboard so that she could see her gowns
hanging
up inside.

Aurelia Trimmer barely repressed a gasp of dismay. No wonder Emily always looked older than she really was. Everything hanging there was sensible, serviceable and drab; there was nothing frivolous or pretty.

For her part, Emily was very used to seeing this unexciting selection; now, with Aurelia by her side, it was as if she saw her clothes with new eyes. Suddenly, she pictured their party going to Gainsborough on the morrow, with everyone dressed
attractively
apart from herself, trailing in the rear, no doubt with Miss Wayne. They would almost make a matched pair. ‘Oh dear,’ she said involuntarily.

Mrs Trimmer took a deep breath. If Emily herself realized how unsuitable her clothes were, then her work would be made that much easier. ‘Now listen, my dear, I have an idea and I think that it will work splendidly. I have a gown, in a charming
shade of buttercup yellow, and I think that it would become you to perfection.’

‘You want to lend me one of your gowns?’ asked Emily, her eyes opening very wide.

‘I would like to give it to you,’ Aurelia answered. Seeing a stubborn look come over Emily’s face and anticipating a refusal, the canon’s wife went on confidentially, ‘It is becoming a little too tight for me,’ she said frankly, then dropped her voice. ‘To tell you the truth, my dear, and this is a very great secret indeed, so secret that not even Alan knows, I am almost sure that I am expecting an interesting event in the spring. If that is the case, then I shall need new gowns anyway, for the ones I am now wearing will not fit me.’

‘An interesting event?’ Emily echoed, her face glowing. ‘Oh, how wonderful! When will you know for certain?’

‘Very soon, now. And then, if I am right, you will be able to take some of my gowns without feeling guilty at all. In fact,’ she added with what she felt was great cunning, ‘you will be doing me a favour, for they are far too good to be thrown away, and I do hate waste. I think it is a sin.’

Emily eyed her friend suspiciously. She might be
inexperienced
in some senses, but she was not naïve. ‘Are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes?’ she asked.

‘Not at all,’ replied Aurelia Trimmer virtuously. ‘But, perhaps, a gown over your head?’

Emily had to laugh at that. ‘Very well, then,’ she answered. ‘I confess that my wardrobe is chosen for practical considerations for the most part, and I shall be glad to wear something pretty. But for the time being, let us say that it is lent, until you are sure about your … your condition.’

Realizing that she had won her point, Mrs Trimmer said no more on the matter. A short time after she had returned home, a servant came round with a box for Miss Whittaker. Trying not to show how excited she felt, Emily hurried upstairs with it, went into her room and closed the door. She opened the box
and could not hold back a gasp of delight. The gown was just the shade that Aurelia had described, with short puff sleeves a high waist and a deep frill. Inside the box with the gown was a bonnet, with ribbons that matched the gown, and a charming bunch of buttercups fashioned from silk, and fastened to one side. Inside the box was a note which read:

Emily smiled and, impulsively, she went to the mirror set on top of the chest of drawers in her room and tried on the bonnet. She was amazed at the transformation, and particularly at the way in which the colour of the ribbons and the buttercups added a glow to her face. All at once, she recalled the baronet’s judgement concerning the white bonnet. He was right, she said to herself: I need colour.

She waited to try the gown on until she was sure that her father was out of the house and would be gone for some time. She was convinced that he would disapprove of her new appearance, thinking it frivolous. Once he was out of the way, she put on the gown, and stood staring at herself in the mirror for a long time. It was like looking at someone ten years younger. Where did my youth go? she asked herself. Then, before she could become maudlin, she made herself look more carefully at the gown to see whether it needed any alteration to make it fit properly.

In the end, she decided that although it was a little loose, this did not matter enough to signify. She was not as tall as Mrs Trimmer, so she would need to shorten the gown a little. She was not sure whether to simply take up the flounce, or remove it altogether and take up the body of the gown before putting the flounce back. After a little thought, she decided that since the gown was on loan and not yet given, the former course of action would be the easier to undo if she had to give it back. She
was already coming to the conclusion that she did not want to do so.

Before she took the gown off again, she slipped out of her room and, being careful not to be seen by anyone, hurried along the passage to her grandfather’s bedchamber.

‘Look, Grandpapa,’ she said, as soon as she was inside the room. ‘Look at this pretty gown. Mrs Trimmer has lent it to me. I don’t think I have ever worn anything so pretty before. Do you like the colour?’ She twirled around in front of the
motionless
old gentleman. It was as she was just turning back towards the bed that she saw his eyelids flicker, and his eyes open
fractionally
. ‘Grandpapa?’ she said, hurrying to sit on the bed and take his hand. ‘Grandpapa, can you hear me?’

The old man did not speak but slowly closed his eyes again. It was a tiny enough reaction, but it was more than anyone else had got from him in many weeks.

‘I know that you heard me then,’ she said, ‘and I shall keep coming and talking to you every day. One day, I know, you will reply to me.’

She thought for a long time about whether to tell her father what had happened, but in the end decided against it. It had been such a very slight thing, and might mean nothing at all. If it happened again, she would inform him of it.