Marrying Miss Martha (2 page)

She gave a wry smile at her reflection in the mirror. Stronger was one word for her old self, rebellious was another. Father had called her that several time, because he hadn’t wanted her to marry John and she’d defied him. He’d said the fellow was not only short of money but had dangerous radical tendencies, just because John cared about the poor. Well, what else should a curate care about but those who needed his help most?

The rebellious part of her seemed to be surging up again now, pulsing with life, and it was disconcerting.

She might not speak as bluntly as dearest Martha, she might sometimes try to avoid trouble rather than confront it head on, but she was equally determined that they should make a life for themselves, and oh, most definitely not one dependent on their cousin.

On that thought, she drew the curtains firmly and got into bed. But it was a long time before she slept, and she could hear Martha’s bed creaking next door as her sister tossed and turned too.

* * * *

Seven o’clock the following morning saw the sisters sitting with a tea-tray in the parlour, knowing they were safe from interruptions because their cousin had never been an early riser.

“Edward’s a fool!” stated Martha, stirring her cup of tea so vigorously it slopped into the saucer.
“You
can go and live with him if you want to, Pen! I’d rather go out as a governess. Far rather!”

“That’s just what he was offering you,” Penelope pointed out with a chuckle.

“Unpaid! And as if he were doing us a favour, too!”

“Yes, but what
are
we going to do, Martha? We shan’t be able to afford to live here any more. He’s quite right about that.”

“We can manage on our annuities if we’re frugal and go into rooms, but personally I’d prefer to find some way to earn a living. Otherwise what should we do with our time?”

“We ought to have made plans before now.” She frowned and fell silent for a moment, then asked, “What
can
we do, though? You wouldn’t really go out as a governess, would you, Martha?”

“I would if I had to! Only I’d prefer us to stay together. Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, yes!”

“And besides, governesses lead awful lives. Look at Jenny Barston. The poor thing can’t call her soul her own, and if it weren’t for us, she’d have no friends at all, because the Warings rarely include her in their social life unless they need to make up the numbers. Anyway, I know exactly what we can do. I’ve had it in mind for a year or two now, only you were grieving for John and it didn’t seem necessary to discuss it yet.’ Her voice wobbled as she continued, ‘I didn’t expect Father to die so soon.”

Penelope squeezed her hand in sympathy. “What can we do?”

“Open a school.”

“A school! But there’s one in the village already!”

“I know that! We shall have to go somewhere else, somewhere that doesn’t already have a school for young ladies.”

“Leave Woodbourne?”

“How can we stay? There isn’t enough money and that’s that!” Martha stood up and went to gaze out of the window, her arms rigid at her sides, her hands clenched in tight fists. “Even Edward couldn’t offer us a solution that would allow us to stay here, Pen.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned round. “Anyway, I refuse to live on his charity! I just won’t do it! I can’t abide him or that silly moon-faced wife of his. I should be at outs with them in hours—no, minutes!”

“Then it seems we must try your school idea.”

Martha glanced sideways. “I didn’t think you’d agree so easily.”

‘As you say, we have no choice.’

‘Good. That’s settled, then.’

She didn’t say so, but there was another reason she would be glad to leave quiet little Woodbourne. All the unattached males there were either elderly or mere boys. Penelope was very pretty and surely, if she got the opportunity to meet some eligible gentlemen she’d find herself a husband?

Martha had no such hopes for herself. She’d read novels about people falling in love, but it had never happened to her. She was, she supposed, too practical and as for moderating her own opinions to suit those of a husband, she could never do it. So she’d resigned herself to spinsterhood.

But if Penelope were married and had children, then Martha’s life would be richer, too.

* * * *

Immediately after breakfast Edward again broached the question of his cousins’ future and refused to be diverted from the subject. He spoke soothingly and every third or fourth sentence assured them that their presence would be no financial burden upon himself and his dearest Rosemary.

“Edward, you know perfectly well that you and I could never live in harmony,” Martha snapped when his tedious peroration came to an end. “I don’t know why you’re even considering the idea. Anyway, Penelope and I have other plans for the future. We’ve decided to open a school and that’ll suit us much better.”

He goggled at them, then positively shouted,
“Open a school?
I forbid it, absolutely and utterly forbid it!”

Martha began to enjoy herself. “You can’t prevent us, Edward! We’re of full legal age and we have our own money, so it’s got nothing to do with you!”

“Nothing to
do
with me! My own cousins talk about setting up as schoolmistresses—schoolmistresses of all the shabby genteel things!—and you say it’s got nothing to do with me! Have you thought what people will say? Merridenes reduced to running a school. It’s shocking—unthinkable. I won’t have it!”

Penelope joined in. “Rubbish, Edward! Teaching is a perfectly respectable occupation for a lady in reduced circumstances.”

He opened and shut his mouth a few times. “You must be mad to refuse the offer of a good home at Poolerby Hall—every comfort—the bedroom walls repapered only last year—new curtains, too—ruinously expensive and fading already. I never heard of anything so ridiculous in all my life! Anyway, the risk is too great! You could lose what little money you do have. Schools cost money to set up—if one does things properly, that is.”

“We’re not fools!” replied Martha. “We shall choose a suitable town most carefully. We have no intention of failing in this venture.”

He stared at them in horrified dismay as the only possible meaning sank in, opening and shutting his mouth several times before he managed to speak. “You don’t—you can’t mean you intend to leave Woodbourne and go to some strange place where you know nobody and are utterly without masculine protection!”

“You can’t have been listening, for I told you so quite plainly.”

Penelope stepped in. “We shan’t rush into anything, Edward, I promise you.”

He stood up and marched across to the door, belly and jowls quivering with the violence of his steps. “I shall wash my hands of you! And so will Rosemary! I’m not having people saying that I encouraged you in this ridiculous venture! Or that I didn’t offer you a home. I shall pack my bag at once.”

He waited, clearly expecting them to beg him to stay. When they didn’t, he withdrew behind a wall of icy dignity, summoned his carriage from the inn and took his leave in the curtest possible manner.

“He’ll be back,” said Martha cynically as they stood at the gate and watched the dust settle in the lane.

Penelope laughed. “If only to see how we’re managing.”

Martha threaded her arm in her sister’s and turned towards the house. “Now, love, we must start doing some careful calculations. We have to go into this in a very businesslike manner. Remember, if we fail, we shall be dependent upon Cousin Edward’s charity!”

They both shuddered at that thought.

* * * *

Finding a place in which to open a school was more difficult than they had expected and the problem had not been resolved by the time winter approached and with it, the date they had to move out of their old home. By then, even Martha was beginning to worry that they might have made a mistake.

They studied advertisements in newspapers and dipped into their slender capital to go and inspect a few schools that were advertised for sale. But these were in districts that were distinctly shabby or else in remote villages. All of them had a sad air, as if the buildings themselves were tired of being schools.

This was not at all what Martha had in mind. Better-class persons wouldn’t send their daughters to be educated in such places, she was sure, and she intended to run a successful school, not a scratch-quill establishment.

Over a hundred miles to the north in a small Lancashire town called Tapton, Ben Seaton opened a letter and cursed fluently as he read its contents. Within the hour he had hired a carriage from the livery stables and was driving across the Pennines to Yorkshire.

He arrived in Bradford at dusk, weary and still angry. Not waiting for the groom sitting beside the coachman to jump down and open the carriage door, he let himself out with a curt, “I’ll expect you back here at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” Picking up his valise, he strode up the steps and hammered impatiently at the door of the commodious three-storey residence.

When a maid answered his knock, he thrust his hat into her hands and walked inside. “Where is your mistress?”

The sound of raised voices coming from the room to the right told him before the maid could do more than open her mouth, so he set down his valise and moved in that direction.

Mrs Seaton was the first to notice him. “Ben! Oh, thank goodness you’ve come!”

He trod across to take his step-mother’s hand and clasp it for a moment then turned to his half-sister, his expression hardening as he took in the elaborate clothes which didn’t suit a girl of her age. “Playing off your tricks again, Georgie?”

She scowled at him. “It wasn’t so bad. Other girls go out driving with their beaux and—”

“Not girls of sixteen and not in a carriage on their own with a man!” her mother snapped. “And that particular beau is not only ten years older than you but more intent on winning himself a fortune than observing the proprieties. I told you so when you first met him.”

How had she managed to meet him in the first place? Ben wondered. Belinda had always given his half-sister too much freedom.

“Harold
loves
me!” Georgie cast a resentful look towards her mother. “Besides, I got home safely, didn’t I? What harm was there in it?”

Her mother was not to be persuaded. “If Mr and Mrs Gralling hadn’t seen you at the inn—looking uncomfortable, she said—and brought you back in their carriage, I shudder to think what might have happened once
that man
had got you out into the countryside on your own.”

Georgie pouted and flounced across to the window. “Well, nothing did happen and if Harold had tried anything—he’s not nearly as gentlemanly as I thought—I would have stabbed him with my hat pin. I think it very mean of you, Mother, to write to Ben about it when nothing bad happened.”

Mrs Seaton began to fan herself in agitation. “Ben
is
your guardian.”

“Goodness only knows why! I don’t know what Father was thinking of, leaving a will like that. Why, I can’t even marry till I’m twenty-five without Ben’s
permission or I’ll not gain access to my fortune. And he may be fifteen years older than me,” she added with monumental scorn, “but what does
he
know about love or—or anything? All he understands is running that dirty old mill. No wonder Miss Gayle broke off their engagement! He’ll no doubt die a rich old bachelor, but
I’m
not going to follow his example and . . . and . . . ”

Under her half-brother’s stern gaze the flow of words gradually trailed off and she flounced one shoulder, turning away from him.

Mrs Seaton looked at Ben and spread her hands helplessly. “I can do no more. Georgiana is becoming so wilful and,” she blushed, looking suddenly younger than her forty-one years, “since I am shortly to re-marry, I shall have even less time to devote to her from now on.”

Ben wasn’t surprised that Belinda had found herself another husband. She was that sort of woman, the clinging type. Why hadn’t she mentioned her engagement in her letter? He guessed suddenly that the main reason she’d summoned him wasn’t Georgie’s escapade—though that was bad enough—but because Belinda had found an excuse to hand her daughter into his care. That was probably the best thing for the poor girl, if not for him, for his step-mother never had spent much time with her daughter, preferring to gossip or go shopping with her friends.

He realised she was looking at him expectantly so said quietly, “My congratulations on your coming marriage, Belinda. Do I know the gentleman?”

“I think not. Ambrose is from near York—one of the Perrings—and I shall be moving there as soon as we’re married, only—” She looked at her daughter and bit her lip before adding plaintively, “Georgiana doesn’t get on with him.”

“The man’s a fool!” his sister said without even turning round. “A
rich
fool, I’ll grant you, landed gentry, no less. She’s done even better for herself this time moneywise, but he’s four years younger than Mama, so she doesn’t want a daughter as old as me making
her
look older.”

Ben was sure Georgie was right, but that still didn’t excuse her recent behaviour or this open rudeness to her mother. He frowned at her and turned back to the older woman. “I dare say you’ll wish some privacy to settle in with your new husband, then, Belinda?”

She nodded, a pleading look in her eyes.

“And in any case, I believe the time has come for me to take charge of Georgie. Shall I take her back to Tapton with me tomorrow?”

“Oh, Ben, that would be so kind of you.” She beamed at him.

But it was the girl by the window he was watching and he didn’t miss the way she made a furtive swipe at her eyes with one hand. “I’ll be happy to have your company, Georgie,” he said in a softer tone. “Really I will. I’ve missed having family nearby.”

She swung round, looking very young suddenly. “Well,
I
won’t be happy to go back to Tapton, not without Father. And since I’m tired now, I’m going to bed.” She whisked out of the room, slamming the door hard behind her.