For Myself Alone: A Jane Austen Inspired Novel (17 page)

28

Visitors

Mama does not have an easy time parting with her firstborn all over again, having grown quite accustomed to him being back in the nest during his protracted stay at Fairfield. The renewed separation leaves her prone to fits of melancholy for the next week. Each meal during that same period invariably begins with a deep sigh as she observes his empty place at table. Indeed, I am sorry to see him go as well, more than I expected. The same stolid manner that renders him difficult to know intimately has made Frederick a reliable rock in the storm of recent events.

With him gone, I revert to making my visits to Agnes alone. Though the trend is definitely for the better, her moods still vacillate between her former despondency and her new-found confidence. Whenever her spirits are low, as they are this particular day, I cannot help remembering that Arthur is principally to blame. Still, since revisiting that subject can do neither of us any good, I direct the conversation along more positive lines.

“What a fine day it is, Agnes. I believe spring is nearly upon us at last. Shall we not walk into Wallerton? I need to stop at Colby’s to buy some ribbon to trim out my new bonnet, and I could use your help. You know very well that your understanding of finery is far superior to mine.”

“No, I could not possibly go into the village. Not yet. We had much better keep to the garden.” 

“Soon, then. We cannot stay at home forever, hiding as if we have something to be ashamed of. Let us not give the gossips that satisfaction; they mustn’t be allowed to think they have beaten us.”

“I suppose not,” Agnes agrees half-heartedly. “Perhaps by next week I may feel up to it. Or someone else might assist you with your shopping. Your friend Miss Graham will be here shortly, will she not?”

“Yes, and you will like to see Susan again too, I’m sure. She arrives in a fortnight and is to stay through the whole of April. You shan’t mind if she joins us on our outing to Millwalk, shall you?”

“Not at all. But there is another member of the proposed party whom I should very much like to see excluded.”

“Arthur.”

“Yes; Arthur.”

“Well, perhaps he will choose not to come, to spare everyone that discomfort. Or you may be strong enough to bear it by then, Agnes. It is still a few weeks off, and you are improving every day. What a triumph it would be for you to show him exactly how little you care what he does.”

~~*~~

The first three months of the new year slip away quietly with very few social engagements to disturb our routine at Fairfield. Our style of life is now decidedly retired. We entertain no company – a hardship for my mother – and what few dinner or card parties we hear of, we do not attend, either for want of inclination or want of invitation.

Unfortunately, this withdrawal from local society tends to lend credence to the rumors circulating about some trouble with my engagement to Mr. Pierce. My evasive responses to such civil inquiries as, “Have you purchased your wedding clothes yet?” or, “When shall we meet your young man?” no doubt contribute to the general curiosity. Gradually my neighbors stop expecting answers from me and begin supplying their own. That there has been a rupture is soon considered an established fact. So I am told by reliable sources. It seems the only question that remains in people’s minds is which of us has made it; who is the jilt and who the jilted?

In due course, March makes way for April with its brighter weather and wildflowers blooming in the park. The advent of Spring also brings the promise of Miss Graham’s arrival and the much-anticipated excursion to Millwalk. Yet the outlook is not entirely sunny. The weeks ahead hold at least two causes for concern as well. I will likely have to face Arthur at Easter with my feelings for him still in a state of considerable ambivalence. And what has been heretofore only a threat of legal action might well become a reality requiring a difficult decision on my part.

That issue has never been far from my thoughts since my trip to London. Whilst I busy my other faculties with purposeful activity, my mind wrestles with the all-consuming questions day after day. Dare I hope that Richard will defy his father, preventing the suit altogether? If not, how far should I go to avoid paying any claim? Should I trust my fate to a jury or take matters into my own hands? Is the money worth the trouble it will cause to keep it? In the end, might I not be just as happy without it? And, if I am honest with myself, I will admit there is still a small voice inside my heart that favors a yielding to Richard’s request, not for money but for my return to his arms.

Meanwhile, Susan comes as expected, and a poignant reunion ensues. After a separation of over three months with only written correspondence to sustain our friendship, the first two days of her visit are necessarily given over to recanvassing in person all the events, thoughts, and feelings that the weeks apart have supplied.

“We have barely touched on your trip to London as yet, Jo,” Susan remarks the second day.

“I am really not at liberty to discuss any of the particulars. At all events, you are doubtless more interested in my consultation with Mr. Ramsey than the one with Mr. Gerber.”

“In point of fact, I have heard all about it in a letter from the gentleman himself. Still, I would be more than happy to listen to your report as well, especially if you take care to praise Mr. Ramsey a great deal.”

“So you correspond with an unmarried man, Miss Graham? This is quite shocking,” I tease. “Many a young woman has lost her character for less.”

“As you know perfectly well, there is nothing improper about an engaged couple writing letters, and that is what we consider ourselves to be. Only Mrs. Ramsey would be shocked by that, and she needn’t ever know.”

“What about your parents?”

“They are far more understanding. I believe they like George nearly as much as I do myself. They will be delighted to see us married whenever circumstances allow.”

“By which you mean overcoming Mrs. Ramsey’s objections?”

“Yes, or failing that, we will risk her wrath and be married without her consent when Mr. Ramsey is established in his own right. Either way, it is bound to be a long engagement.”

“Ah, but he is well worth waiting for, is he not? Shall I remind you of all his admirable qualities? You did suggest that I praise him a great deal.”

But it is Susan who takes up the office of elucidating Mr. Ramsey’s perfections, with which she is the one more intimately acquainted. According to her, his character has no rival for loyalty and integrity; his temper is mild as a lamb’s; his nimble mind navigates the mechanics of the law and the subtleties of poetic verse with equal dexterity; and in the countenance and person of no other man does the ideal of understated male beauty more comfortably reside.

“And yet, to all this you must add one more enormously important quality, Susan: his excellent taste. For without it, where would you be? Had he not shown the wisdom to prefer you to every other woman of his acquaintance, none of his merits would signify in the least.”

“True.” We both laugh. “He is a prince among men, Jo. That is my honest opinion, and I make no apologies for it. Oh, if there were but such another man for you, someone worthy of you this time.”

“Well, never mind that. I have sworn off men for the time being. After all, I had my chance. Mr. Ramsey was
my
dance partner first, as you will recall. Perhaps I should not have been so quick to give him up to you.”

On the third day of Miss Graham’s visit, we call on Miss Pittman together. After spending a pleasant hour renewing and improving the acquaintance, Susan and I announce our intention of continuing on into the village. Although every enticement available is brought to bear in the case, Agnes cannot be persuaded to join us.

“Are you sure that you are robust enough for such a perilous expedition?” I ask Susan in mock concern as we go on our way. “Consider carefully. By accompanying me, you risk being censured as soon as you are known in Wallerton. Although most of my neighbors can now behold me without severe agitation, likely as not I will give offence wherever I go.”

“I am relieved to hear you joke about it, my dear. It is exactly as I expected; you have risen above your misfortunes. But really, is the rumor of a broken engagement the best this town can do for scandal?”

“I’m afraid so – no murder or mayhem to relieve the monotony. The Pittmans and I have done what we can, but it is meager fare at best for the true connoisseur. I shall have to conjure up something more substantial for the next course. A breach-of-promise suit… with a twist, perhaps; that should satisfy everyone’s appetite. What do you say, Susan?”

“I say, God forbid you should be so accommodating! Let the gossip mongers find their next entertainment elsewhere.”

Susan credits me with rising above my circumstances when, in truth, it is partly due to her encouragement that I have the confidence to do so. Together, we freely move about the town, making calls of charity and business. Somehow, I can better bear the looks and the whispered remarks of others with her by my side. Agnes, who has no strength, thought, or courage to spare from herself, is incapable of doing me that valuable service.

True adventures are more difficult for us to come by in Wallerton than in Bath; that is to be expected and not very much regretted. What amusement we can find, Susan and I are glad to share with Agnes. The real excitement, however, arrives late one morning in the form of an unannounced visitor: Mr. George Ramsey.

Upon being informed of the gentleman’s presence, Susan and I are the first to join him in the drawing room. Mr. Ramsey has just enough presence of mind to greet me before turning his full attention to my friend. I am thrilled to see the couple reunited so happily – and by my means too – but I cannot help feeling myself an intruder almost immediately. As the hand-holding and whispering of endearments commences between the lovers, I wander across the room to the window, affording them a few minutes to themselves.

Their privacy does not last long; my parents soon enter. “Why, Mr. Ramsey,” begins Mama, “what a fine surprise this is. We did not expect you. At least
I
did not. Perhaps Miss Graham… That is to say… Well, we are all very pleased to see you, I’m sure.”

“Have you come on business or otherwise, Mr. Ramsey?” Papa asks pointedly, glancing between the young man and his lady.

“Business mostly, sir. I am here on a commission from our mutual friend Mr. Gerber. He asked me to give you this,” he explains, handing over the portfolio he has brought with him.

Papa opens the parcel and takes a cursory look inside. “These papers must be important, requiring early attention, if delivery by a messenger rather than the post was called for. What were your instructions, Mr. Ramsey? Are you to wait for an immediate reply?”

Mr. Ramsey goes quite red in the face. “Nothing so urgent, sir. I confess I was rather looking for an excuse to get out of London for a few days. I let Mr. Gerber know that if he should have an errand or anything wanting delivery, especially to Hampshire, he should call on me.”

“I see. Yes, of course. I understand precisely what you mean, Mr. Ramsey. So we may examine this material at our leisure?”

“Yes. If there
is
a return message, I shall be happy to carry it back to London in a day or two. I am completely at your service, Mr. Walker. I have taken a room at the Red Bull for the next two nights.”

“So, we shall be seeing a lot of you in the meantime, I gather,” Mama says eagerly. “You will join us for dinner, I hope. We have been sadly lacking in company at Fairfield since we returned from Bath, Mr. Ramsey. With both you and Miss Graham here, it will seem like a real party.”

29

Anticipation

The agreeable Mr. Ramsey consents to stay to dinner and beyond, much to everybody’s delight. No one could be more gratified than Susan, but Mama is also very well pleased – pleased with having a full table again and pleased with herself for her foresight in ordering such a fine meal even before she knew the young gentleman would be at hand to eat it.

Shortly after dinner, my father summons me to his library, whereupon Mama announces that she has household duties requiring her urgent attention. Susan and Mr. Ramsey, being well able to bear the solitude, are kind enough to excuse us all.

“You should study these papers for yourself, my dear,” Papa begins when we are alone, “but in short, Mr. Gerber is asking for your decision. These documents will authorize him to carry out your wishes if and when he receives notice from Mr. Pierce’s solicitor. As you will see in the letter attached, he does not require your reply immediately. However, if you are prepared, we can take advantage of Mr. Ramsey’s offer to carry it back to London.”

“I still have not yet made a final decision, Papa. I need a little more time.”

“Of course. Such a weighty matter mustn’t be rushed. A fortnight from now will do as well.” He stands quietly by whilst I read through Mr. Gerber’s correspondence, and then he remarks, “I collect that you have at least a tolerable grasp of this legal jargon, Jo, so I trust you are not overwhelmed by what you find there.”

“Not exactly overwhelmed. The responsibility is sobering all the same.”

“Well, you have already had benefit of my opinion on the subject. Still, if you wish to discuss it further…”

“Thank you, Papa. I have very nearly made up my mind. I only want to let the idea rest for a while, to allow it to settle into a firm resolve, to be certain I can live at peace with it.”  

“Then, my dear, since we can do no more about it at present, we had best get back to our guests. No doubt they have been very lonely without us,” he says satirically.

When we rejoin the couple in the drawing room, my father seems unable to resist the temptation to have a little sport at Mr. Ramsey’s expense. “Good news, Mr. Ramsey,” he says. “There is no need to delay your return to London. My daughter and I have made quick work of the documents you so obligingly brought to us. They are signed and ready to go back to Mr. Gerber at once. So you will want to be off at first light, I should think.”

The suddenly crestfallen young man is too bewildered for words. I come quickly to his rescue. “Never mind, Mr. Ramsey; Papa is only teasing. The papers are by no means completed, and you are to remain at Fairfield as long as you wish.”

Mr. Ramsey breaks into a wide smile. “I am relieved to hear it, for I have already discovered a great fondness for this place. I should be sorry indeed to leave it so abruptly,” he says glancing at Susan.

Mr. Ramsey spends the whole of the next day with us, and every effort is made for his comfort. I believe we secure his highest appreciation, though, not by attentiveness but by neglect, our chief accommodation being the way we find other occupations for ourselves to afford him as much privacy with Miss Graham as proper decorum will allow.

Unfortunately, Mr. Ramsey’s commitments in London will not allow him to extend his stay. After a farewell call the following morning, he takes himself off as planned, leaving his dear Susan refreshed for his visit but desolate anew at having to part with him again so soon.

~~*~~

By now, weeks have elapsed since I received Mr. Randolph Pierce’s threatening letter. I can picture his vexation at being so long ignored, and imagine the resulting arguments between father and son over what to do about it. My somewhat-better opinion of the younger Mr. Pierce leads me to believe he will offer at least nominal resistance to filing suit when the time comes. He implied as much when we last spoke in Bath and in his letter. Yet Richard is no match for his father, I fear. I have little doubt that he will ultimately relent.

In the meantime, I do my best not to dwell on that unhappy prospect. Susan is here to keep me busy and to prevent me taking my troubles too seriously. With her support, I venture farther and more frequently from home. We traipse everywhere together – calling at the Pittmans and on Mrs. Evensong, shopping at Colby’s, placing orders for Mama with the butcher and the baker in the village, and taking the air on the roads and footpaths round about. We even induce Agnes to break her seclusion at long last and join us on some of these outings.

Whereas it is too soon to expect a letter from Mr. Pierce’s solicitor, we do hear from both Frederick and Tom concerning the forthcoming outing to Millwalk. They have settled the particulars between them and determined that it will be as well for the two from Oxford to travel directly into Surrey rather than first making a lengthy detour to Wallerton. Mama approves the plan, proposing herself as chaperone to accompany Agnes, Susan, and myself on the trip.

I relay the information to Agnes. “…So it appears that Arthur does intend to come after all. Shall you mind so very much?”

“No, not in the least,” she declares haughtily. “My confidence grows day by day. It no longer signifies what Arthur Evensong says or does. I care no more for his presence or his opinions than for an indifferent acquaintance’s. To object to the notion of seeing him would be to pay him too high a compliment.”

“Bravo! I must say I shall be proud to see you put him in his place. As for me, I admit I would rather avoid him altogether. However, if you can abide his presence, surely I can. Your behavior shall be my guide. Do you still wish to conceal the fact that there has been a break between the two of you? I do not know what Arthur may have told Tom, but Mama and Frederick could have no idea of it, I suppose.”

“I confess I did drop a hint about the alteration to your eldest brother last time he visited. Yet for your mother’s sake and for the geniality of the gathering, I shan’t make an issue of it.”

“Then nor shall I. I can exert myself to be cordial to Mr. Evensong if I must. Let us hope he will make an effort to keep up appearances as well.”

“If he is any kind of a gentleman, he will let it seem as though it is my idea that we go our separate ways. When the time comes, that is what I intend to say. That is what I told your brother, in fact.”

The more we discuss the excursion to Millwalk, the more my anticipation increases for going. Agnes’s excitement for seeing Frederick’s estate, and her sanguine attitude toward Arthur, are contagious. Listening to her talk, my own expectations for success improve likewise.

I have pleasant memories of Millwalk going back to when I was a small child. My uncle always made such a fuss over me when we came to visit, calling me his “little princess” and giving me a bedchamber done up in keeping with the title. He stabled a pony especially for my use, which I rode near the house until I was old enough to keep up with my brothers on the bridle paths throughout the park. Millwalk is something of a second home to me, so much time have I spent there over the years. It will be good to see the place again, yet strange that my uncle will not be there to greet us on this occasion, or indeed ever again.

Two days before the trip to Millwalk, Mama orders the carriage and drives into Wallerton to discharge her errands. She returns just an hour later. “Jo, dear, get your things. I desire you should accompany me to call on Mrs. Evensong. I have just heard in town that she is unwell. Miss Graham will excuse you for an hour or two, or she may join us if she likes.”

Susan, having just received a letter from London in a gentleman’s handwriting, is perfectly content to remain on her own at Fairfield for the rest of the morning. So Mama and I set off without her. We find Mrs. Evensong in her cozy parlor, wrapped up warm near the fire with her maid Annette fussing over her comfort. She does indeed look very poorly compared to when I saw her Sunday at church.

“My dear Martha,” begins Mama, “How distressed I was to learn you are unwell. When we heard, we came straight away. What ails you, old friend?”

“’Tis nothing alarming – just another bout of my usual complaint, Doris. The apothecary has been here and prescribed the standard physic, but I believe a visit from such friends as you will do me more good.” A coughing spell interrupts her conversation. As we wait for it to pass, the maid offers a dose of medicine, which her mistress waves off. When Mrs. Evensong has recovered herself, she goes on. “I am especially pleased to see you, Jo. One likes to have the liveliness of young people always about the house.”

“You have two of your sons with you. They must be good company for you, Mrs. Evensong,” I suggest.

“Yes, I shall always have little John with me; he will remain a child forever. Robert, though, is very much occupied with business since his father died. He has grown so severe!” she says in good humor. “I declare, he is become quite an old man in his manner now. Still, I cannot fault him for that. The mantle of responsibility fell upon him so unexpectedly. Arthur would make me the best companion if he were not away so much of the time. I know it is necessary, but I cannot help feeling the loss most acutely each time he leaves.”

“I often think,” says my mother, “that there is nothing so bad as parting with one’s children. One seems so forlorn without them. I miss my sons dreadfully, but a sensible daughter is a great mainstay. Jo is a real comfort to me. It looked as though I might lose her to Surrey, but she has changed her mind about that, thank heavens.”

“Mama! The less said about that misadventure, the better. Besides, nothing has been officially announced yet.”

“Never mind, dear; I will tell no tales,” Mrs. Evensong assures me. “Although I daresay it is very selfish of me, I am glad to hear you will be staying in Wallerton. You are the nearest thing I have to a daughter of my own, and I should have been very sorry indeed to see you go away.”