Prudence and the Romantic Poet (The Three Graces #3)

Chapter 22

22

‘A toast!’ said Leon, raising a glass of the White Hart’s best champagne. ‘To Prudence and her fabulous wealth!’

‘To Prudence!’ agreed Charity. ‘No one deserves good fortune more than you.’

Prudence thanked them and took an obligatory sip, though she did not share her sister’s taste for champagne. It was pleasant to eat a good dinner that did not consist of stew or soup, even if it were not a leisurely meal due to little Alex having no nursemaid to mind him. She did not mind his childish demands on her attention; he brought a deal of humour to the meal as he perched on a stack of cushions to reach the table, mimicking the adults as he clumsily handled cutlery and pulled faces over the pickled mushrooms.

She was glad to be among her family again. The past months had taken a toll on her, she realised. Now that there was no ailing relative to be concerned over, no damp, dusty house to clean, no spartan living conditions, and no restrictions and obligations on her time, she felt strangely light.

For this one evening she would forget the past and put aside the uncertainty of the future. She wasn’t sure if it was the champagne or not, but she had a bubbling, slightly giddy sensation inside when she remembered that tomorrow she would see Sir Robert again, and some of those future uncertainties would be settled.

Next morning Prudence awoke at her usual early hour. She was confused at first, not recognising her surroundings. There were unfamiliar voices and noises close by, and the furniture and furnishings of the room were rendered more unfamiliar by the wintry pre-dawn gloom.

Then she recalled that she was in the small guest room, usually given to the lady’s maid accompanying her mistress in the best room farther down the hall, and the voices and clattering noises were coming from the yard outside where horses and carriages passed by to the stables. She also recalled that today was the day Sir Robert was coming to see her, and the fluttering, dizzy feeling bubbled up again, dispelling her theory that it had been champagne that had caused it the evening before.

She did not like to call for hot water so early in the morning, but she was anxious to bathe and make herself as presentable as she could on such a momentous day. She debated a while what to do, then dressed herself and went downstairs, looking to see if the servants were about yet.

She found a maid laying tables in the dining room for breakfast and made her request for cans of hot water to be sent up. Captain and Mrs Hart must have made a good impression as guests of quality, for every attention was shown her, and she enjoyed copious hot water with soft towels and scented soap.

The whole of the morning followed this serendipitous flow, for her best gown, though plain and not the height of fashion, was sponged and pressed by a helpful young chambermaid who made up her fire. The girl returned with the gown and helped Prudence with the fastenings, chatting cheerfully of how she dreamed of being a lady’s maid one day, and persuading Prudence to let her brush out her hair and arrange it in a style she had seen on a guest recently.

She proved to be a fair hand at hairdressing. Prudence still had a quaint look about her with her weighty hair twisted into a crown of coils, lending her features a look of fragility, but the maid declared her vastly pretty and was self-satisfied with her work, especially when Prudence gave her a shilling for her trouble and asked for her name.

‘Lizzy Reever, miss,’ said the girl with a curtsey. ‘Though I like Eliza better. I think it sounds more elegant.’

Prudence agreed that Eliza was an elegant name and promised that if she heard of someone in need of a lady’s maid, she would be sure to think of Eliza Reever from the White Hart.

‘I’d work for free while I was in training,’ added Eliza with such an air of yearning for a better life than that of a chambermaid that it tugged at Prudence’s heart as she watched the girl leave.

Prudence laced up her half-boots, put on her warmest pelisse and put the matching bonnet on carefully that she might not ruin Eliza Reever’s handiwork, then tapped gently at Charity’s door. On hearing a muffled, ‘Come in,’ she peeked round the door to see her sister sat up in bed sipping a cup of chocolate. Seeing that no one else was in the room, Prudence stepped inside.

‘Leon has taken Alex to the stables to see the horses. The little fiend has had us awake since five.’ She yawned. ‘Did they bring you chocolate? I told them to.’

‘They did. ’

Charity looked at her properly. ‘Why have you got your coat and bonnet on?’

‘I need to return to my uncle’s house. I want to make sure Lizzy has packed up everything, and I’m expecting a caller, as you know.’

‘Not at this time of the day, surely?’ said Charity. ‘And it’s not your uncle’s house, dear, it’s your house.’

Prudence gave a wry smile. ‘I forget.’

‘This caller must be very important,’ said Charity, eyeing her. ‘You still have not said who this very kind gentleman friend is.’

‘Oh, I dare say you’ll meet him by and by,’ said Prudence evasively. She did not feel ready to speak of Sir Robert yet; not until she knew how things stood between them.

‘My prosaic little sister acting mysteriously,’ said Charity, still regarding her closely. ‘And blushing .’

‘Don’t tease so early in the morning, Chari. I am not blushing, it is very warm in here and my pelisse is fur lined.’ She bent to kiss her sister on her cheek. ‘My overnight bag is packed and on the bed in my room if I am not back to fetch it before we leave.’

‘We really should leave before noon,’ said Charity. ‘I hope your friend is not tardy.’

‘I cannot leave until I have spoken with him,’ said Prudence, feeling a rush of vexation at being tugged between her desire to keep her word to Sir Robert and her desire not to be a hindrance to her sister’s plans. ‘I can travel on behind you on the stage with Lizzy and Amos. Do go ahead, Chari, and then I shall not feel anxious over delaying you all.’

‘Oh, fustian,’ said Charity, waving away her objections. ‘We would not let you travel alone. You are taking this new spirit of independence too far if you think we would. We shall wait for you, no matter how long it takes.’

It was a short walk between the inn and Kingsmead Street. Prudence was delayed more than once by a passing acquaintance hailing her and stopping to give her their condolences over her uncle. ‘We only knew of it when we read the notice in the Gazette,’ said Miss Fitzgeorge, who was the second person to greet her. ‘We thought the lines very elegiac, did we not, Josephine?’

Her companion nodded with enthusiasm. ‘Keat-like.’

‘Byronic, even,’ said Miss Fitzgeorge. “ Mammon’s glittered snare.’ Who wrote them?’

‘Mr Shelbourne,’ said Prudence, desirous of getting away, but not wishing to be rude.

‘Ah, we thought it was our Mr Shelbourne, did we not?’ said Miss Fitzgeorge. Her companion nodded, setting the silk cherries in her hatband swinging.

‘I shall not keep you out in this cold wind, ladies,’ said Prudence, affecting a shiver. ‘Thank you again for your kind sentiments, I am very grateful. Goodbye!’

She hastened away only to be thwarted by the elderly Mrs Spigott who likewise offered her commiserations on her loss, and made bold to enquire in a confidential tone if the gold had been substantial?’

‘Gold?’ said Prudence in surprise.

‘I always said he was miser,’ said Mrs Spigott. ‘For I knew him as a young man, and he had nip cheese ways then. My grandson said he was a penniless old goat, but I said, not him. You mark my words, he’ll have a small fortune hoarded up somewhere. Are you his only heir?’ She peered under Prudence’s bonnet brim. ‘My grandson would make any girl a good husband. William is not over clever, but you won’t mind that, you can train him as you will.’

Prudence extricated herself, saying that she had no thoughts of matrimony at present, and thanked her for her condolences. She blushed for her untruth as she hurried on, for thoughts of matrimony were all she could think of at that moment.

She used her key to let herself into the house, calling out, ‘It is only me!’

Only Pickering responded, poking his head round the door of his late master’s room to grunt an acknowledgement and to say that he’d had no gruel that morning. She heard Pip barking at the other end of the house and knew he must be shut in the kitchen.

‘Has Lizzy make breakfast?’ she asked. Pickering shrugged to say he knew naught of breakfast.

Lizzy was not in the kitchen where Pip launched himself at her in greeting. She was not in the bedroom they shared. There was no sight or sound of her or Amos in the house. Prudence looked at the kitchen stove, devoid of a porridge pan, but had no wish to begin cooking while she was in her clean gown with her hair nicely arranged. Pickering would have to make do with bread and butter and potted ham for one morning.

She took off her pelisse and bonnet, checking in the mirror to ensure that her hair was still neat. and adjusting the hair pins to secure her coronet of coils.

She found herself continually checking the clock in the sitting room in between making Pickering breakfast and a pot of tea for them to share, not that she was particularly thirsty, but because she needed something to do to pass the time and occupy herself. Would he come this morning, or would she be left lingering all afternoon, and where was Lizzy and Amos ?

It was eleven o’clock before the door knocker sounded, startling her, even though she had been expecting it for the past hour. She called out to Pickering that she would answer it, pausing a moment before opening the door to smooth her skirts and take a breath to calm her rapid breathing. Her eyes were bright as she opened the door to see Mrs Smithyman.

‘Morning, Miss Grace,’ greeted Mrs Smithyman. Little Charlotte rushed past her mother to greet Prudence. ‘Leave Miss Grace be, Lottie,’ scolded her mother. ‘Sorry, miss, she thinks the world of you and never stops talking of you. We’re not too early are we? You did say to come along in the morning.’

Prudence had forgotten about Mrs Smithyman, and felt a pang of guilt. ‘Come in,’ she urged. ‘Lottie, my poppet, I am happy to see you. Good morning, Sophy, come in. Good morning, Charles. You have grown a deal taller since last I saw you.’

A lanky boy of about fourteen with a sensitive face bowed and stammered out his thanks to her for her help to his ma. ‘It is your mama who is helping me,’ said Prudence, ushering him in with his sack of belongings.

Before she shut the door she could not resist glancing down the street each way in case the figure of a gentleman in a black greatcoat should be striding towards the house, but there was only the butcher’s boy pushing his handcart.

Prudence showed Mrs Smithyman the kitchens. ‘The stove is a little primitive,’ she apologised.

‘Looks fine to me,’ said Mrs Smithyman, admiring the neat rows of gleaming copper pans and the well-swept hearth. Everything in Prudence’s kitchen was orderly.

‘There is a pump just outside the door,’ said Prudence. ‘The dry pantry is here, and the cold larder is beyond. Let me show you. ’

She showed Mrs Smithyman all over the house. ‘There is a monthly delivery of coals,’ she assured her when Mrs Smithyman exclaimed over the number of fireplaces. ‘As long as this is Mr Pickering’s home, I shall provide the coal and a food budget.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Miss Grace.’

‘It is his justly earned pension,’ replied Prudence. ‘I am so grateful to you for agreeing to cook for him and keep house.’

‘I am doubly grateful to you, miss, for enabling my Charlie and Sophy to come home.’ She looked about the dining room. By the expression of half awe, half admiration, she clearly did not see old-fashioned, cumbersome furniture and faded curtains and carpets. ‘My word,’ she said softly, stroking her small daughter’s head. ‘We shall live like queens in this fine house, shan’t we, Lottie?’

‘And I think I know which bedroom you shall like best, Lottie,’ said Prudence. ‘Lizzy and I have made it as pretty as we can. Come and see.’

She showed them to the master bedroom on the third floor which had a dressing room attached to it that Lizzy and Prudence had made up into a little bedroom.

‘Mama can have the big bed, and you, Lottie, shall be next to her in here.’

Prudence wished Lizzy was there to see Lottie’s face as she looked at the pink coverlet on the bed and the shelf of picture books Prudence had ordered at the bookseller.

‘Look at that pretty lamp, my lamb,’ exclaimed Mrs Smithyman. ‘It’s in the shape of a lily flower, and what sweet pictures those are on the wall. And I never saw such a beautiful rug, all covered in flowers.’

Mrs Smithyman had tears in her eyes. ‘But to think of me in a great bed like that! Me, you and Sophy could all fit in it and still have room to spare. ’

Charlie expressed a wish to see the attic rooms, so Prudence lit a lamp and showed him the attic floor. There was one small window at each end of the hall that ran the length of the upper floor. Charlie peered out at the window overlooking the street below and commented that there was a handsome pair of greys drawing up.

This drew Prudence swiftly to the window, for Sir Robert drove a pair of greys on his travelling coach. As she looked down, she saw with a surge of happiness that it was indeed Sir Robert’s carriage. He had alighted and was speaking to his coachman. He must have come straight from town, and was sending his carriage to the mews, or on to Beech Park. The thought that he had spared not a minute, but come straight to her caused another surge of happiness, and she thrust the lamp at Charlie, saying, ‘Do bring this down, Charlie, I must hurry!’

Hurry she did. She ran down the stairs from the attics. Mrs Smithyman, still perusing the bedrooms with Lottie, saw her go past, and asked if all were well.

‘Oh yes! I am going to speak to a caller!’ she said, and ran down the stairs to the second floor. She could hear the door knocker sounding. Why did Pickering not answer it? It rapped again, more insistent. She hastened further, down the final flight of stairs. Still Pickering did not appear. Pip, who had been at her heels the whole time now ran in front and entangled himself in her gown, causing her to stumble on the last few stairs. She had to grasp the bannister to keep from falling. The lurching action caused a hair pin to fall loose, and then another, and she was vexed to think of her careful hair arrangement being sabotaged at the last minute. She was not hurt, but the delay was painful—why did Pickering not answer the door?

By the time she had righted herself and reached the door and opened it, her heart racing from hurrying down three flights of stairs, there was no one there.

‘Oh, no!’ she cried to herself, stepping outside to look down the street. Where was he? Would he have turned in the direction of the mews, or gone to his house in Brock Street? She would have run to the end of the street, but realising that to run coat and hatless down the street in winter would be a little mad, she retreated inside, her heart and mind churning with disappointment and vexation.

‘What shall I do?’ she said, still a little breathless. There was only Pip to answer her; he cocked his ears and lolled his tongue. ‘I shall send Charlie to Brock Street to see if he is there. Oh, what if he goes home to Beech Park?’

She felt so unlike herself, so tearful and uncertain, that she was a little shaken by her own response. ‘What is wrong with me?’ she murmured. ‘I must take hold of myself.’ She took a few calming breaths, then returned to the staircase to call for Charlie. She was at the top of the first flight, and Charlie had responded from higher up, when another shout from below arrested her mid-step.

‘Halloo!’ called the voice. ‘Anyone home?’

She turned and rushed back down. ‘Mr Shelbourne!’ She could send Mr Shelbourne after his cousin! ‘I am so glad to see you! You must do something for me—’

‘Look who I found!’ called Mr Shelbourne, coming through the front door, his hat at a jaunty angle and a newspaper rolled up in his hand. ‘I found my cousin coming away from here – said there was no one at home, but I said sometimes the old codger doesn’t answer the door, so just let yourself in and holler – that’s what I do!’

Prudence was not listening to him. She stood motionless for a moment staring at the figure coming in behind.

‘Good morning,’ said Sir Robert, stepping forward and removing his hat to bow to her. ‘I am glad to find you at home.’

‘I-I too,’ stammered Prudence. ‘That is to say – I am glad you found me!’

Mr Shelbourne waved the paper in his hand. ‘Brought you the Gazette! They published the obituary I wrote. How different words look when they’re in print!’

When Prudence did not move, Mr Shelbourne said, ‘Are you well, Miss Grace?’

This recalled her to herself. ‘Oh, yes. Forgive me. Come into the sitting room.’ She suddenly felt shy of looking Sir Robert in the face. She felt like a silly schoolgirl, and was vexed with herself. She led the way, accepting the paper that Mr Shelbourne pushed into her hands, with the page opened to the obituaries. But she could not read the words, they swam about, she could only be aware that Sir Robert was in the same room, and she was ridiculously happy and flustered all at the same time.

‘How are you?’ he said, his voice resounding through her like the opening notes of a favourite composition.

‘I-I am well, I thank you.’

‘Is she well?’ said Mr Shelbourne with a laugh. ‘Wait till you hear the news!’ He modified his tone to a more sober one. ‘That is to say, that there is sad news in that Miss Grace’s uncle has died, but – upon my word, sir – what do you think? The old fellow only went and left a fortune to Miss Grace! A cool quarter of a million pounds , no less!’

Mr Shelbourne related the story in a lively, celebratory tone, and Prudence stood silently by, wishing he would cease speaking and go away and leave her and Sir Robert alone, and all the while she was aware that a change was passing over Sir Robert’s face.

When he had first looked at her it had been with obvious pleasure at seeing her, mixed with a serious, intentional look, which was entirely in keeping with the purpose of his visit. But as his young cousin relayed the story of Mr Sealy’s unexpected fortune and the transformation of Miss Grace from a dowerless young lady to a substantial heiress, it was as though a cloud passed over Sir Robert’s face, and then, even worse, a shuttered look came into his eyes, and all the light and look of pleasure went out.

She was alarmed, and confused. What did it mean? Why did he suddenly look like a stranger? If only Mr Shelbourne would be quiet and go away! She wanted to say something, recall Sir Robert to her, ask him what was wrong, but as she opened her mouth to speak to him she was forestalled by Charlie stepping into the room saying, ‘You called, miss?’ then begging pardon when he saw she had visitors. Before she could speak to Charlie there came the sound of the door knocker, and Charlie said, ‘I’ll get it, miss!’ and darted away.

She looked at Sir Robert, to speak to him, but he was not looking at her. He had half turned away and had a grim look on his face that filled her with a horrible premonition.

Now came the sound of footsteps running down the tiled hall, and a small voice calling out, ‘Pip! Pip!’ and Pip’s corresponding bark in reply. Little Alex tottered into the room, his eyes lighting up at sight of his Aunt Pru as he ran to her and put up his arms to be held. She mechanically put down the unread paper and lifted him.

‘And who is this little fellow?’ said Mr Shelbourne brightly.

Equally brightly came Charity’s voice as she strode in, looking resplendent in her emerald carriage coat and sable muff. ‘Is all your packing done, Pru?’ and then, ‘Oh! I beg pardon, I did not know you had guests.’

Charity looked quickly at the two men, her eyes gleaming with admiration and interest as they rested on tall, handsome Mr Shelbourne standing close to her sister. ‘So this is your visitor,’ she said with a knowing glance at Prudence. ‘Do introduce me.’ With her usual open manners, she came quickly forward, hand outstretched to Mr Shelbourne, who was nearest, saying, ‘How do you do? I am Charity, Pru’s sister.’

‘Delighted to meet you, Miss—?’ Mr Shelbourne glanced at Prudence for enlightenment.

‘Mrs Hart,’ supplied Charity. ‘But if you are an especial friend of Pru’s, you must call me Charity. And this is my husband, Captain Hart.’ Leon now followed his wife into the room with Pip jumping at his boot tassels.

‘Mr Shelbourne, at your service, ma’am,’ said Mr Shelbourne shaking hands. ‘And this is my cousin—’

‘I am well able to introduce myself, Shelbourne,’ said Sir Robert grimly. He bowed. ‘Robert Shelbourne at your service, ma’am, Captain. Are you here to escort Miss Grace home?’

‘To London,’ said Charity, regarding his stern features with fleeting interest. ‘The poor dear has laboured and languished here long enough. I intend to shower her with Christmas cheer and spoil her as she deserves.’

Sir Robert looked darker. Mr Shelbourne beamed. ‘Now that is an excellent plan.’ He sighed, turning to Prudence. ‘London. Perhaps you might see Miss Kimpshott there?’

‘I hope I shall,’ said Prudence, still glancing at Sir Robert, willing him to meet her eye that she might communicate something of what she was feeling to him .

It seemed as if the room was quickly turning into a circus to Prudence’s agitated mind, for Pickering staggered in, his shirt tails hanging out as he exclaimed that he had come to see what all the commotion was, for he had nodded off and woke to hear strange voices. And then Mrs Smithyman came in, carrying Lottie, and enquiring if Miss Grace would like a tea tray making up for her guests? Lottie slid down at the sight of Alex, who was equally interested in seeing another small person, and wriggled from Aunt Pru’s arms to run over and make an instantaneous friendship, having inherited his parents’ outgoing sociability.

Leon had scooped up Pip to keep him from attacking his boots, and to the children’s entertainment was scolding Pip and mimicking Pip’s saucy replies.

Amidst the chatter of Charity and Mr Shelbourne, the grumbling of Pickering, the giggles of the children, the barking of Pip, who was excited to have so many people around him, in came Lizzy and Amos, looking flushed from the December wind, and perhaps from some other cause, for Prudence noticed they were arm in arm.

Charity, catching sight of Lizzy, called her over. Prudence saw that Sir Robert looked as overwhelmed by such a noisy crowd as herself. He picked up his hat and made a bow to her and made ready to exit the room. She hurried after him, ignoring Mrs Smithyman’s repeated question of the matter of tea.

‘Sir Robert!’ he was halfway down the hallway. He turned, and she could not read the look on his face, but cold fingers gripped her heart as he looked at her as though they were strangers.

‘I am sorry…’ she began, ‘I wanted so much to… that is… I was… I am…’ Why could she not speak a rational sentence ?

‘It is I who am sorry,’ he replied. ‘I did not mean to intrude.’

‘You are not intruding. Why should you think so?’

‘When do you leave?’ he asked briskly.

‘Today.’ She wanted to tell him that her departure was unexpected, that she had delayed it despite the inconvenience she unwillingly generated that she might see him – that she had been so looking forward to seeing him – but, oh, that dreadful, detached look of his!

‘I wish you a safe journey, Miss Grace.’ He bowed. ‘And my sincere condolences on the loss of your uncle.’ After a moment’s pause, he added, ‘And congratulations on your good fortune.’

She could hardly believe he was leaving like this. She felt stunned. Before he reached the door she managed to blurt out – ‘Wait!’ halting his step. He paused. ‘Sir Robert?’ She wished her voice did not sound so pleading. ‘Have… things changed?’ The profile of his forbidding countenance quelled her from saying – have your feelings toward me changed? Do you not wish to marry me now?

He gave one quick glance at her that she could not interpret. ‘Everything has changed,’ he said in a strange voice. ‘I sincerely wish you all happiness. No one deserves it more than you.’ And then he was gone.