Love Bade Me Welcome (13 page)

“Do you play chess at all, Homer?”

“A little. Not nearly so well as Norman. You can teach me the tricks, if you will be so kind.”

“Oh, I didn’t know half of Norman’s tricks. He always won by a mile.”

“How ungallant of him.”

We set up the pieces, several evenings we did, but somehow we never got around to finishing a game. We did not stay late in the study. There was Homer’s visit to his mother to be made, and I felt more fatigue than usual, due to my condition. We seldom remained in the study longer than an hour, but it was a peaceful hour of the day that I looked forward to. I knew Homer enjoyed it too. I became mellower in my assessment of the Blythe family.

I remembered Cousin Bulow’s mention of Dr. Mather, and still intended looking into the man’s reputation, but I met few people from outside the family, and one could hardly blurt out to a new acquaintance, dropped in to visit Thal or Jarvis, that she wished an opinion of the local doctors. It had not been told to outsiders yet that I was pregnant. Till my body told them, I thought it would not be mentioned to any but close friends. I still had my slim figure, though I had stopped lacing.

Other than a
daily bout of nausea each morning, some unusual fatigue, and an increase in appetite, there was little change in my feelings as pregnancy advanced. Careful of the sun, I lost that discoloring mask around my eyes. My health was good enough to allow me to go about those few places that mourning did not prohibit. Church, of course, was not only allowed but expected. Heads turned to stare at me as I walked to the family pew, very close to the front of the church, and in the central aisle, too. At such moments my black veil was welcome, to hide me from prying eyes. The drive with Cousin Bulow awaited me, a pleasant variety in my routine.

He came calling that Friday morning at ten-thirty, just after my visit with Thalassa. He was freshly shaved and barbered, and wearing a dapper tailcoat with sparkling linens. None of the other gentlemen in the neighborhood made so elegant an appearance as Bulow, who favored London tailors, and was thus turned out in the highest style. Having an interest in horses, he drove a team of fast goers, harnessed to a shiny black carriage that would have looked at home on the broad avenues of Paris or London.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked as we walked out the door together with a holiday mood in the air.

“To the seashore,” I answered without hesitation. I knew it was close, but had not yet had the opportunity to visit it.

“A bit chilly for it yet,” he pointed out.

“I don’t care. I want to smell the sea, to see the waves and walk on the shingle, gathering stones, as I did when I was on holidays with my father when I was a girl.”

“Last year, was it?” he asked with a bantering smile, poking fun at my fancying myself quite grown up.

“Why no, sir, it was more than a decade ago.”

“You’ll find the beach hasn’t changed much! Not as much as the little girl.”

“You had something else in mind,” I said, noting his hesitation. “Don’t let me change your plans. I didn’t know you had made arrangements already.”

“I see. You are one of those impossible ladies who thinks a question is looking for an answer. Not at all. You were expected to say that, as I am the native of the place, you put yourself entirely in my capable hands.”

“Consider it said.”

“No, truly, I was only thinking of your condition. I thought the beach would be too rough for you, but if you’d like to go, I’d be delighted to take you.”

“I can do that another time. What had you in mind?”

“Being with you. The beach or Bridgewater or Taunton—it is no matter. We’ll decide in the carriage,” he said.

“It’s a beautiful carriage,” I said in compliment as he handed me in. The seats were upholstered in deep blue velvet, with fat, padded squabs to cushion the back.

“I have to maintain the family dignity. I too am of the illustrious house of Blythe. In fact, there was a time when Sir Roger was so fond of me he wanted to adopt me. That was before he remarried and Thalassa produced Homer, of course. Norman and I were always together when we were young, usually at Wyngate, as it had so much more to offer than the Barrows. Jarvis used to show us all over the house and estate, pointing out the history and so on. It’s a grand old place.”

“It is, but I am still looking forward to getting away from it for a day.”

“And from mourning. We shall go to Taunton, remove your veil and my arm band, and see the sights. No one you know will see you there. It will be a secret holiday, a respite from mourning. We could go to Bridgewater, but it is a dull little red brick town. You have already seen St. Mary’s Church, and when you have admired that, you’ve seen the best of the architecture. The tidal wave passes up the river twice a day, but it’s hardly a sight to attract tourists.”

“How far is Taunton?” I asked, knowing it was larger, the county town of Somerset.

“Only ten or twelve miles. A pleasant drive in this weather. I hope you have noticed the fine day I ordered for our holiday.”

“Did I not think to thank you for it? I couldn’t have ordered better myself.”

“Millie and I—most of the lunatics hereabouts really—are closely attuned to Mother Nature. She does pretty well what we tell her.”

I saw he was in a whimsical mood, and looked forward to an enjoyable outing. My black outfit would still proclaim me a mourner, but without my veil I might be taken for one grieving a less close relative than a husband, and I was ready for one short afternoon away from grief. I meant no disrespect to Norman. He would have understood.

“I suppose it would be all right to go,” I said.

“He would want you to,” he answered, in such an ordinary, everyday way you would think he had been reading my thoughts, and that this was a common thing for a man to do.

The drive was enjoyable. The town is situated on the Tone, in a pretty vale, Apple orchards abound in the neighboring countryside, enlivening the hills. It is an agricultural town, one with historical associations. Monmouth, Bulow told me, was proclaimed king at the corner of the marketplace and High Street. He also spoke of some wholesale slaughter, a hundred rebels butchered by a Colonel Kirke who used to live in an inn, since torn down. Of less gruesome interest, we saw Taunton Castle, and walked rather quickly through the Somerset County Museum. We admired the churches: St. Mary Magdalen’s in particular was a beautiful perpendicular building with double aisles and a sculptured tower, lately renovated. We also admired the font at St. James’s Church.

“And now we have earned our afternoon tea,” Bulow decreed.

He met with no opposition from me. I was famished, with my ever-increasing appetite. He hired a private parlor to allow us to relax and be jollier than a party of mourners would dare to be in public. Perhaps I ought to have felt guilty, having such a good time, but I did not. Cousin Bulow did not make me feel so, for which I liked him.

“There is no need to apologize when you return to Wyngate either,” he assured me. “Touring historical sights is perfectly acceptable, even for a widow. Taunton Castle is bathed in blood, a fine outing for anyone.” He laughed. “It stood against the Cavaliers in 1645, and the Great Hall saw the Bloody Assize after the Battle of Sedgemoor. Nearly four hundred transported and a hundred put to death afterwards.”

“You have a strong interest in history, Bulow. And an excellent memory.”

“Devil a bit of it. I got hold of a guidebook to impress you. There is a Shire Hall I meant to bore you with as well. It has busts of all the local worthies, but as I can’t remember half their names, what do you say we skip it and have a look about the shops instead? That would be more interesting to a lady.”

“Oh, but boring for you, I am convinced.”

“Boring, when I am with yow? No, I have more imagination than that. Besides, I have a commission to perform for Millie, who entertained me before you came down this morning. She wants lace for those bloomers she is constructing.”

“Is she really going forth with them? I was sure she’d forget all about it.”

“I expect she’s only doing it to annoy Homer and Jarvis. No harm in it. Who will see her, outside of the family? In any case, I promised to buy her four yards of showy lace, and what she does with it is her business. You will know what kind to get.”

“You’re very thoughtful,” I complimented him.

“She has made a sort of favorite of me, so I play along with her.”

“No, you have made a favorite of yourself by being kind to her. Don’t blush at a sincere compliment, Cousin.”

“I am not blushing, only flushing with pleasure at your praise. There is a difference. Don’t ask what it is, but there
is
a difference. Blushes are for maidens.”

We enjoyed our tea, while our talk ranged from novels to history to family matters, touching from time to time on Norman and my recent past. It was possible to talk freely to him, telling him how Norman and I went on. It came out somehow about the missing jewelry.

“Very peculiar,” he said. “Do they have any proof Norman ever removed it from the vault in London?”

“I believe so. Homer speaks of it as certain. The bank must have told him.”

“Homer would have gone after it as soon as he inherited, of course,” he said, nodding. He made no issue, gave no pointed look, but just said it as a matter of course. I thought he was correct, too. Homer was just a little grasping, a little premature in running things. Or so he seemed to me from this distance. He was not nearly so lively a companion as Bulow, either, nor so handsome. I felt, during some moments, as though I were with Norman.

Taunton was not so huge a town that we weren’t recognized for visitors. A few people turned to look after us. “You still turn heads, even dressed in black,” he teased me, but I know the women, at least, turned to admire him.

We took our time selecting Millie’s lace. “She can’t afford that, Cousin. She will want a less elaborate piece,” I scolded when he went unerringly to the finest stuff in the shop.

“It is a gift,” he told me. “I wouldn’t give a lady a shabby, second-best present. She has no head for money, but she will recognize quality.”

I did not compliment him again, but I thought he was kind to treat a half-mad relative so generously. I felt a trifle mean myself, and bought Millie some dashing silver-edged buttons to enhance the bloomer outfit. I also bought a bottle of floral scent for Thalassa. She used flowery fragrances, and liked to have a variety.

“It is not necessary to shower presents on the entire clan,” he said. “They’ll think we spent our whole day in the shops, instead of studying history, as we mean to let on. We shall do it again soon, I hope. It hasn’t tired you too much, Davinia?” he asked with concern.

“It’s done me a world of good to get out. How can I thank you?”

“By coming out with me again.”

“Excellent. Let me know when Miss Crofft is free. I don’t want to make an enemy of her.”

“Why should that alienate her? We are only friends, Eglantine and I. She sees other gentlemen. We’re not engaged.”

“I thought there was some understanding...”

“There is. The understanding is that we are not engaged, or even seriously involved with each other. Who could have told you otherwise?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I think Thalassa said something.”

“She would. You ladies are always imagining romances. The truth of it is, she wants to preserve you for Homer. She’d be happy to see him break off with—another woman he’s seeing,” he finished, rather vaguely.

“Oh dear, then I’ll have a different lady at my throat.”

“I was careful not to say ‘lady.’ She’s one of the other sort. Thal would be happy to see him settle down with a respectable wife—of his own, I mean,” he added, with a little debonair laugh that suited him, but rather shocked me.

“I didn’t believe Millie when she said—hinted, I mean—that he was a womanizer.”

“That’s too strong a word for Homer. He visits a married woman weekly, when her husband is busy elsewhere. But pray don’t tell a soul I am the one who let the cat out of the bag. I don’t even know if the affair is still on, since he moved to Wyngate. She was one of his tenants. I don’t believe in philandering with the lower classes myself, but that is a matter of taste really, not morals. I don’t mean to imply I am a saint.”

A little pleasure went out of the afternoon. When I returned, it was not of the day’s activities I thought, but of Homer, creeping by stealth into a tenant’s house to make love to his wife. It left a bad taste in the mouth, and in the mind.

We arrived home just in time for dinner. I invited Bulow to join us, but he declined. He gave me the lace to give Millie, and drove on home to the Barrows. During dinner, I gave the family an idea of our day.

“You should not overtax yourself,” Homer cautioned.

“Rubbish. She ain’t sick. Exercise is good for her,” Millie told him.

Homer listened but made no comment. He was distracted that evening, as though holding some excitement in check. I wondered if he would announce after dinner that he was going to visit Farnley Mote. Of course he would not specify just whom he was visiting there, but after Bulow’s gossip I had a lively suspicion. It turned out, after we were seated in his office for our business meeting, that it was a different matter that excited him. He explained it to me in detail.

“Laversham’s farm is up for sale, the place that divides Wyngate from the river. It runs along Wyngate on the east side, and Farnley Mote on the north. Old Charles Laversham is retiring, and as he has no sons, he means to sell the farm and retire to Taunton.”

“That’s too bad. You will miss him,” I replied, knowing him to have been a friend of the Lavershams since childhood.

“He told me of it before calling an agent. It was thoughtful of him.”

“I see,” I said, but saw no great advantage in being the first to know.

“You know what this means. You must see the advantage in our buying it,” he went on, leaning forward in his eagerness till our hands were nearly touching.