Friends and Lovers Read online

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  Chapter 3

  Mr. Everett left the next morning for London. My mother and myself spent the day on thorns, running to the front window every half hour to see if they were coming up the road yet. We began our intermittent vigil about noon, not many minutes after Mr. Everett would have reached the city.

  We knew it was impossible they could be back home yet, but our eagerness would not be satisfied till we had looked out the window just once more. We were still looking long after the sun had set, in hopes of spotting carriage lights. Had it not been for the extra work around the house preparing rooms for the children, we would have been totally distracted. We roasted up a joint in their honor, then returned nine-tenths of it to the kitchen after we finished our evening meal.

  Next day, the procedure was repeated, the running to the door or window every half hour. When the postman arrived, I realized what a monster of inconsideration I was. There was a dutiful letter from Mr. Everett explaining there was no Indiaman in the harbor. He would remain in London till the end of the week, awaiting the children’s arrival.

  A long and expensive stay in London on the possibility that he might be required to meet the relatives of a woman who half despised him, if the whole truth were stated, I answered by return post that he must under no circumstance put himself to so much inconvenience. He was to deliver a note in person to Menrod’s London residence, and be assured it was read, understood, and that some of Menrod’s household would meet the children.

  His letter posted the day before did not preclude the possibility of his arriving in person later that day. The vigil was maintained till nearly midnight. Early the next morning, it was resumed. Surely they would come today!

  By noon, I never wanted to see the front window, the mulberry tree in the front yard, or the stone road down to the main road again. I took my watering can to the little conservatory that is attached to the west wing of the cottage, to tend my plants. They had been miserably neglected. Even in the moist atmosphere of the conservatory, the earth around many of them had turned crumbly from thirst. My philodendron had brown tips on its leaves, and my favorite dracaena wilted with fatigue. I put on my smock and busied myself tending my friends, filling the water racks over the fire boxes, whose function was to lend moisture to the air. I pruned and pinched and watered, losing myself to worldly cares for an hour.

  There is some magical enchantment in gardening. Had Lady Anne’s cottage not had this little conservatory attached, I would never have discovered it, for I never took any interest in plants before moving here. While I worked over my pots and boxes, a feeling of deep peace descended upon me. Daydreams unfolded in my head, of a halcyon future in which I played mother to my niece and nephew. I had an idea how the children looked, from pencil sketches Hettie had sent home shortly before her death. I knew Gwen would be six now, Ralph four.

  Gwen favored the Harris family in her physical makeup. She had Hettie’s and my own fair skin and gray eyes. Like us, her hair was an indeterminate shade of light brown that came close to blond in summer, darkening to a less attractive shade in winter. God’s graciousness had been passed along from mother to daughter, endowing the latter with the dimples and curls that avoided me.

  Ralph more closely resembled his father, having darker-brown hair and brown eyes. His waywardness was occasionally mentioned, and blamed on his being of the male sex, but between friends and family, we admitted he might have inherited a little something of unstable temperament from his da as well. No matter, he was young, and I would train him up to be a proper gentleman.

  I arranged a fairly idyllic life for us all. Menrod would give Ralph a pony on his sixth birthday. He would also want to send him away to a public school later on, but my idyll did not extend so far into the future. I thought of the nearer term, when we would be into a more comfortable house than the dilapidated cottage.

  Gwen would come to view me as very much of a substitute mother. When you reach twenty-five and have no family of your own, it is a rare gift indeed to be given a child who bears not only your family’s blood, but even your own name. I knew as surely as my dracaena was wilting to death that I would love the children, and formed the firm resolution they would be made to love me in return. I would have children, even if a husband was denied me.

  “He’s here,” Mrs. Pudge hollered from the conservatory door. She held her cooking apron in her hands, indicating she had ripped it off and run up from the kitchen to get the door, which told me Pudge was busy in the yard, fighting with the roses. They share the duties of butler in this fashion.

  “Are the children with Mr. Everett?” I asked, removing my gloves and struggling out of my smock.

  “It’s not Everett. It’s him. Lord Menrod.”

  “Menrod? What is he doing here? Has he brought the children?”

  “No, he’s alone, and he says he’s in a hurry, so you had better come as you are.”

  I brushed my hair back, tucking in a loose strand, and wishing I might take time to nip upstairs to tidy myself before greeting him. We do not often have the honor of greeting a lord at our cottage door. I also wished I had thought to put a chair or table before the destroyed staircase. The carpenters had left, awaiting Everett’s return from London. I begged them to finish up the job in some manner, but they were worriesomely coy, which inclined me to fear Everett was buying some hideous materials or ornament for the job.

  I hastened to the sitting room, to find Menrod standing in the middle of the floor, with his quizzing glass raised to examine the fireplace. He turned his austere, gaunt face toward me. Menrod is tall and thin. He dresses with no frills, but all his materials and tailoring are of the finest. He is dark-complexioned, like all his family.

  “You have changed the fire irons here,” he said in an accusing tone. His manners are not so fine as his tailoring. “The tongs, the poker, the shovel—where are they?”

  “They fell apart from age. Their handles were made of wood, you know. It is not easy to tend a fire with handleless tools. Have you seen the children?”

  “Where did you put the pieces? I know a blacksmith who repairs valuable old artifacts. Those brass-handled things clash with the rest of the house. I’ll have the wooden handles replaced.”

  “I don’t know where the bits and pieces are. Have you seen the children?” I repeated, becoming exasperated at his nit-picking.

  “I hope your mother has them put away safely. I told her when I let her use this house, I wanted nothing changed. Those items are antiques.”

  My mind flew to the antique stairs, fast on their way to joining us in the nineteenth century, but it was only a fleeting thought, a rush of relief that he had not noticed them.

  “Will you answer me?” I asked, my voice rising with vexation. “Have you seen the children?”

  He gave one last frown at the new fire irons before honoring me with a direct look. I was struck, as I always was upon a close view of him, at how cold his eyes were. Brown eyes are usually friendly—not Menrod’s. The thinly arched brows had something to do with it; they gave him a disdainful expression, which his thin lips did not lessen. He brought the frost into the room with him.

  He lifted an elegant hand to indicate I was to be seated, before more discussion. I flounced to the closest chair and plumped down, undaintily. He strolled to the sofa and lowered himself as carefully and gracefully as any lady. Then he threw one leg over the other, admired his faun trousers a moment, and finally answered.

  “Of course I have seen them. That is why I am here—to tell you I have brought them home to Menrod Manor. I thought you would like to know they are safely home. You are welcome to come up and see them sometime, if you like. Or I will be happy to bring them to you for a visit, if you prefer. I will be home for a few days.”

  My excitement to learn they had arrived safely all the way from India robbed me of the greater part of my perceptive faculties. I read nothing forbidding in the latter part of his speech. “Oh, I am so glad, so relieved.
Did you meet their boat at London?”

  “Certainly not. I am much too busy. I left word at the shipping office to be notified as soon as the ship was sighted. My man went to the dock to bring them to my London residence. They are both in good health, have withstood the journey well, and appear to be recovering from the loss of their parents. I thought you would be happy to hear it.”

  “I am delighted. I wish you had brought them down with you. You cannot imagine how anxious I am to meet them.”

  “Are you indeed?” he asked, a mobile brow rising. “I imagined that, like myself, you would view their arrival as more of a nuisance than anything else. I would have brought them down yesterday, had I realized your eagerness to see them.”

  “Yesterday? You mean they have been at the Manor for a whole day, and you are only now letting us know?”

  “Yes, we would have been here sooner, but I took a few days off to show them the sights of London before bringing them home.”

  “Well, upon my word! You might have let us know what was going on. Here I have sent poor Mr. Everett all the way to London on a fool’s errand, to meet them in case you were not aware of their coming.”

  “How should I not be aware? I have known for six months of their coming. It was arranged through a friend of mine who went out to India to work for the EIC. He chose a reliable gentleman to bring them home. A Mr. Enberg.”

  “I had a letter from Mr. Enberg.”

  “How extremely thoughtful of him. I liked him amazingly.”

  “It would have saved a deal of worry and bother if you had let us know what was afoot. Your stepmother had no idea where you were, or whether you had received Mr. Enberg’s letter.”

  “I am sorry if you were inconvenienced. I did not realize you were so interested in my niece and nephew’s itinerary, or I would have informed you,” he said, in a lofty way he has, that might be only his innate arrogance coming through, or might be sarcastic.

  “The children are also my niece and nephew,” I pointed out. “Naturally I am interested in my own sister’s children. What are they like?”

  “Tolerably handsome. Ralph resembles his father, while Gwendolyn favors your family. Other than being a touch vaporish, she is a taking child. Ralph is quiet.”

  “It is small wonder if she is vaporish, losing her parents, living in India, then having to cross the ocean with a total stranger.”

  “Mr. Enberg was chosen as he was not a stranger to them. His sister accompanied him, to play nanny. She was Lady Peter’s good friend in India, and has been acting as the children’s mother the past year. They were born in India—it is home to them. It is getting used to England that will take some doing. They’ll settle in comfortably at the Manor. Ralph has already discovered the stables.”

  More rational now, I finally grasped his meaning. He planned to keep the children himself. I was busy at once to alert him to my plan.

  “Live here, in this little cottage?” he asked, astonished. “There is not room to swing a cat. You could not possibly look after them properly—in a manner fitting their station, I mean.”

  “The children of younger sons are not usually raised in a palace,” I pointed out,

  “Particularly when the younger son made such a poor match,” he answered unhesitatingly.

  “As to that, Peter had some money, which belongs to the children now. A larger house could be bought, or hired.”

  “Peter had exactly ten thousand pounds as his portion. He would hardly have gone off to India, had he been wealthy. An annual income of five hundred would not go far to look after the children and your own household. I assume that was your meaning—to remove to this larger house paid for out of Ralph’s income, with your mother and servants.”

  “It would not make much sense to have two separate establishments. We would pay our own way,” I answered hotly, recognizing the inference that I planned to live without expense in the setup.

  “It would make even less sense to set up a new house for the children when I have several dozens of rooms standing idle. They will be raised by me, allowing the interest on the capital to compound, so that they have something substantial by the time they are fledged into the world. When the mother has no dowry to pass off to her daughter, you know, it adds the burden of trying to eke out something from the father’s money.”

  “But you don’t want them! You admitted you consider them a nuisance.”

  “You appear to consider them a bread ticket. I have a duty to my brother’s family. I mean to execute it to the fullest extent.”

  “Your duty is to see them happy and safe. They will be both with me—us! Mama too wants them.”

  He allowed his head to turn slowly around the low-ceilinged, smallish sitting room, with the yellow furniture looking cheap in the full sunlight. “What amenities can you offer, outside of your own company?” he asked bluntly. “Englishmen in India live like kings. The children are accustomed to a good deal of waiting on. There will be nannies and governesses required, soon a tutor for Ralph, expensive schooling to provide. They will expect their mount each, and a groom.”

  “They are only four and six. All these things are not required.”

  “They soon will be. They have already suffered two violent upheavals in their short lives; first losing their parents, then leaving India, coming to a new country. It is my hope to see them permanently settled with me, to give them a feeling of security. They might be happy enough here for a year, two at the outside, at the end of which time another change of life style would be required. It is not necessary to subject them to so many stresses. Let them get used to living as they will always live. I can offer them the advantage of a fine home, a large circle of friends, teach them how to go on in society, offer them every advantage my position and wealth allow. It would be criminally selfish of you to try to restrict them to a genteel cottage, when they could have so much more,”

  “Fine talking, Menrod! You have not once mentioned anything except material advantages. Orphans who have been buffeted around the world for a year now want love, and affection, someone who cares for their feelings...”

  He batted a languorous hand, dismissing my remarks as the ranting of a highly imaginative spinster. “It is the manner in which I was raised, and their father, and all our friends. Servants provide that personal attention you speak of. They will not be alone when they scrape a knee or see frightening shadows in the dark. My decision has been taken.”

  “Did Peter appoint you their guardian?” I asked.

  “He died intestate. I told him to make those arrangements before he left England. Of course the children had not been born then. He failed to take my advice, and has landed me a messy kettle of fish.”

  My dashed hopes revived immediately. “You are premature to speak of having taken your decision, then. It will be for the courts to decide who will have the children. I mean to apply for custody.”

  “Let us take our gloves off, ma’am,” he suggested, with a dangerous flash from his dark eyes. “You think because your sister coaxed Peter to the altar, I am equally biddable. It is your intention to upgrade your free domicile to something more magnificent, with me footing the bills. No doubt you envision a London residence as well, or a seaside resort in Brighton for holidays. I am not such a flat. You won’t get a penny out of me by these ruses. If the court is so blind as to turn the children over to your keeping, you will all stay here, with no help whatsoever from me. But they won’t. I wish you luck in your endeavor.”

  I was flattened by so many wrong charges. For full sixty seconds I sat like a witless woman, and when at last I could speak, I was hardly coherent. “Don’t think Hettie married Peter for his money. Much good it ever did her—dead before her time, and having to move to India with him. And don’t think it is your money I want either. I wouldn’t take a penny from you if I were starving. I want the children, and nothing else.”

  “You might as well want the moon.” He arose languidly, to turn his attention once more in passi
ng to the fire irons. He shook his head angrily. “Will you be kind enough to convey my compliments to your mother, Miss Harris?” he said.

  “When are we to see the children? Will you bring them today?” I asked.

  “I will have them sent down immediately, if you like.”

  “Send them for tea,” I said.

  “Very well, but I want them home before dark.”

  He bowed gracefully, and headed into the hallway. Fearful lest he direct his eyes to the left, toward the stairs, I ran after him, taking care to approach his right side. I could think of absolutely nothing to say, but he looked at me with curiosity, so I had to invent something. After all his ill-bred and outrageous charges, what I said was, “I wish you will reconsider, about letting us have the children.”

  It served the purpose. He was so upset, he marched straight out the door. “Impossible. Good day.”

  Pudge had enough sense to have the front door open for him. After it was closed, I ran to tell my mother the news. Like myself she had grown weary from the long vigil, and gone up to her room. She probably knew Menrod was belowstairs, but she is shy of him, or dislikes him. He subjected her and Papa to a grueling interview at the time of Peter’s marriage to Hettie. She never told me what he said, but since that day, she walks a block to avoid even meeting him on the street.

  I knew how she felt. I had never met such a cold, ruthlessly determined man.

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  Chapter 4

  Mr. Everett arrived at about three o’clock, not long after Menrod departed. He had been to the London house and learned the children had been brought home. I felt unpleasantly beholden to him, after the foolish errand I had sent him on.

  To begin payment, I invited him to take tea with us. I would much have preferred to have the children to myself, but some extraordinary civility was owing Mr. Everett. There was also the matter of the box stairs to get straightened out with all haste. After thanking him profusely for all his efforts on my behalf, I turned to the more worrisome matter.