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

Chapter 23

23

Prudence had never thought of herself as an emotional person. She felt things deeply, but had always been able to subjugate her emotions and deal with them privately. This innate composure almost left her with Sir Robert’s bewildering departure. She felt she had opened a door, expecting to walk into a beautiful garden, and instead found a barren landscape, inhospitable and without life. She had expected the glories of early summer and had met with the bleakest day of winter. All her usual resources of self-control and patience and pragmatism fled in those moments when she stood staring in shock at the closed door.

Someone tapped her on the arm. She turned instinctively at the touch to see Jack Pickering’s lined face with his eyes full of sorrow for his lost master whom he had spent most of his life with.

‘Something ails thee, maid?’ he said in a fatherly tone, and she nodded once. ‘Ah,’ he said in a long drawn-out sigh. ‘’Tis a trying life and a puzzling world.’ And he patted her arm again and shuffled away.

Somehow this reminder of the universal suffering of her fellow man put her own trial into context. She had a choice. She could give into her feelings, rush away to her room to sob her heart out and cause the whole household to worry over her and be miserable because she was miserable, or she could draw more deeply on her belief in self-regulation and in submitting her own will to God, who loved her best, and trust that all would be well in time.

She bowed her head, not denying the great wave of pain and disappointment that gripped her, but making a silent prayer for help in her time of trouble.

Something warm brushed against her ankle and she looked down to see Pip sitting at her feet looking up with his small, shiny black eyes. A patter of footsteps came down the hallway and Alex tottered towards her in the ungainly but charming movements of a young child. She bent and put out her arms, catching him up and kissing his soft cheek.

‘Mama say to find you,’ he explained.

‘And you have found me.’

‘Why your eyes crying?’

‘Oh, everyone’s eyes cry sometimes. Don’t yours?’

‘When I hurt.’

‘I have a hurt, my darling, but if you give me a kiss I will feel better.’

‘Where it hurt?’

‘On my cheek. And the other one.’

Alex obliged her and she assured him that she felt much better. Putting him down, she hastened to dab away her tears, took a steadying breath, and forced a smile. Only God would know what she felt.

Back in the parlour Mr Shelbourne was showing Charity the newspaper. Charity read aloud:

“Twas a winter’s day, on December first, when William Sealy died .

In Bath’s quaint church, where yew trees sigh, now lies his grave ’neath sombre sky.

In counted coins and hidden gold his heart did find its lonely tether,

But wealth could not buy solace true, nor grant him peace forever.

Beware, dear hearts, the siren call of Mammon’s glittered snare,

For love of gold may spawn a fate like Mr Sealy’s despair.

His saving grace was love from one who nursed him to the end,

Now this Lady Grace has treasure dear, for it is her, his money will spend.’

‘Who wrote these dreadful lines?’ asked Charity.

Mr Shelbourne’s face paled. ‘Dreadful? Why so?’

Prudence hurried to intercept. ‘My sister, Mr Shelbourne, loves to tease. But you may be sure that she only teases those she likes. That is one of her tokens of friendship.’

Charity opened her mouth to say something but Prudence shot her a warning look, saying, ‘My sister, I am sure, shares my thoughts on your elegiac obituary. It was most kind of you to write it, was it not, Charity?’

Charity’s eyes widened a little, and then a gleam of humour lit them as she realised her blunder. She laughed, saying, ‘Prudence is right, Mr Shelbourne. I am a dreadful tease. I think your obituary… unique .’

‘Unique?’ he said doubtfully.

‘I have never read anything like it,’ Charity assured him.

He still looked uncertain so Prudence mollified him by telling of her meeting with Miss Fitzgeorge who had called the obituary Keat-like, while her companion thought it Byronic .

‘Really?’ Mr Shelbourne brightened.

‘To be sure,’ said Prudence, twitching the paper out of her sister’s hands.

‘Can we bring the carriage round now?’ said Charity. ‘We must hurry if we are to reach Andover at an earthly hour.’ She looked between Prudence and Mr Shelbourne. ‘Or do you need to say your farewells in private?’

Prudence and Mr Shelbourne looked back at her without comprehension.

Charity was distracted away by her son. Prudence put out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Mr Shelbourne. I shall miss your friendship, but I hope to return to Bath soon.’

Mr Shelbourne shook hers warmly. ‘Remember me to Miss Kimpshott.’

‘I will.’

‘To think that in a short while you will see her again,’ he mourned. ‘Will hear her sweet voice. Enjoy the light of her presence.’

He still had hold of her hand as his eyes began to glaze as they did when he was drifting into a mental composition.

A flash of irritation passed through Prudence. ‘Mr Shelbourne,’ she said briskly. ‘It seems to me that if you truly care for someone you do not easily let them go.’

‘Go?’

‘Instead of pining for Miss Kimpshott and allowing her to be drawn away by another man who is physically present to engage her affections, why do you not pursue her?’

‘What man?’ he said in alarm. ‘Carlyle? Or has she met someone else?’

‘Whichever man she happens to meet,’ said Prudence impatiently. ‘I speak of generalities. The point is, Mr Shelbourne, that she hears or sees nothing of you, and can only assume you have forgotten her.’

‘Never!’

‘Your own thoughts and feelings are irrelevant. Action is what is required.’

He looked like a bewildered child. ‘What must I do?’

‘Pursue her. Win her. Go to London.’

‘Go to London?’

‘Why not?’

‘Where would I stay? How should I find her?’

‘Leon?’ called Prudence. ‘Where would you recommend Mr Shelbourne put up for a few weeks in London?’

‘Are you following on to London?’ said Charity, turning back her attention to the couple and glancing with interest at the clasped hands of her sister and the handsome young man.

‘Grillons in Albemarle Street,’ suggested Leon. ‘Good food to be had there. Or Steven’s in Bond Street was popular with my military friends.’

‘I do not know anyone in town,’ said Mr Shelbourne weakly.

‘You know us,’ said Charity. ‘Call any time. Come and dine whenever you like. We don’t stand on ceremony, especially with family friends. I’ll introduce you to a good friend of ours, Mr Lacey. He knows everyone, and will soon introduce you round.’

‘It would be excellent research for your cantos,’ Prudence added. ‘You said your protagonist travels through Europe. I assume he goes to London?’

‘He does.’ Mr Shelbourne gazed away into space as though envisioning himself, or his poetic protagonist, walking the streets of the metropolis. Prudence tried to pull her hand away, but the movement roused him from his vision and he gripped her hand more firmly ‘ I will ,’ he said. ‘I will go.’

‘Capital!’ said Charity.

‘I shall go home and pack directly!’

Mr Shelbourne made to march away, then remembered his manners and bowed and took leave of them all.

‘Shall you see Mr Shelbourne to the door?’ suggested Charity, with a flicker of humour in her expression. ‘A private farewell.’

‘We have nothing we need say privately,’ replied Prudence. ‘Mr Shelbourne has long been in the habit of letting himself in and out. I am ready to leave.’

‘Good! Leon, we can bring the carriage round!’ she called to her husband who was speaking with Lizzy and Amos. Leon turned with a look half humorous, half surprised. ‘I think, my girl,’ replied Leon, extending a hand to his wife, ‘that you need to hear something first. You too, Prudence.’

‘What is it?’ said Charity. ‘We should not delay a minute more.’

‘Come here and listen,’ insisted Leon.

Prudence drew near, noting that Lizzy’s head was hanging down a little, which was not like her. Prudence said softly, ‘Lizzy?’

Lizzy looked up. ‘Oh, miss,’ she said in a wavering voice. ‘I cannot go with you. I’m sorry.’ And burst into tears. Amos put his arm round her shoulders and murmured something to her.

‘What’s this?’ cried Charity. ‘Lizzy, what is wrong?’

’N-nothing’s wrong, as such,’ sobbed Lizzy.

‘Shall I tell them?’ said Amos.

‘No,’ said Lizzy, making an effort to compose herself. She held out her left hand. The sisters stared at it .

‘Oh,’ said Prudence softly, looking at the gleaming, narrow band on Lizzy’s ring finger.

‘We got wed this morning.’

There was a moment’s surprise. Charity was the first to step forward and hug the couple, congratulating them. Lizzy began crying again. Prudence took her hand in both of hers and pressed it as she said, ‘I wish you both very happy.’ Lizzy looked back with brimming eyes, saying, ‘I’m sorry, miss, that we did it so sudden and made such a secret out of it – I don’t want to leave you, miss—’

Lizzy’s tears caused Prudence’s silent tears to fall, though she was not weeping entirely for the loss of Lizzy, but because she felt so full of emotion over all that had happened that morning. Lizzy thought the grief was over her betrayal, and sobbed harder, while Amos said, ‘It were my fault, miss. Everything came to a head after all that business with Bessie, and I knew we, me and Lizzy, that is, couldn’t go on as we were. It was getting too hard to try and live like we weren’t no more than friends, when what we wanted was to be together. To be man and wife. So I spoke to the vicar when you sent me to give him a message, and he told me I’d need to get a marriage license and told me how to go about it, and he said he’d marry us once we had it, and so that’s how it came about.’

‘I should have told you, miss,’ sobbed Lizzy. ‘But you were so busy with everything and I didn’t want to add any more bother on you.’

‘Well, I think it is capital!’ announced Charity. ‘I only wonder how it is you waited so long! I could not have waited four years for Leon.’

‘You would have found someone else long before then,’ quipped her husband.

‘That is not what I meant, and you know it. I mean that to be in the same house all this time and not be together, I could never be that patient.’

‘It’s been mortal hard, ma’am,’ said Amos. ‘It would try the patience of a saint, and no one’s ever called me a saint.’

‘We must celebrate!’ said Charity, always ready for a celebration.

‘I thought there was not a minute to spare?’ her husband reminded her.

‘Oh, dash it. That is true. We shall have to delay a proper celebration.’

‘But why does this mean you cannot come with us?’ Prudence asked, having wiped her tears away and folded up her handkerchief.

‘With all due respect, miss,’ said Amos, ‘we don’t wish to be in service as a married couple.’

‘Amos wants us to strike out on our own,’ said Lizzy.

‘What will you do?’ asked Prudence.

‘We’ve got a little saved these past four years,’ said Amos. ‘We can take a room, and I’ve got to know a deal of the local tradesmen round here. I can get work.’ He put an arm around Lizzy. ‘Lizzy will keep house. I’ll work hard to keep both of us.’

Prudence forced her troubled mind to work in its usual logical and orderly manner, though her head felt heavy and muddled. ‘I need a property manager,’ she said, grasping at this important fact.

‘What’s that mean, miss?’ said Lizzy.

‘Someone I can rely on to look after my properties in Bath. To organise and oversee repairs and collect rents, and keep me informed of any problems.’

‘I can do all that for you, miss,’ said Amos.

‘I know you can. And there is no one I would trust more. The position will include accommodation. You can take rooms here for now. I should like you to be here to look after Mr Pickering. There will be work here to organise and oversee in modernising the house. Mrs Smithyman will take care of the cooking and keep house until her rooms at Claverton House are renovated. There is plenty of room for you all. You could take the second floor and make the drawing room into a parlour and dining room of your own, and the dining room into a bedroom.’

Prudence’s thoughts were racing.

‘Oh, miss, do you mean it?’ Lizzy began weeping again.

‘Please say you will take the position?’ Prudence begged. ‘It would be a great weight off my mind to know you were here to look after things.’

Amos bowed. ‘It would be an honour, miss.’

‘Famous!’ cried Charity. ‘How I love a happy ending! But let us be away, now, Pru. You can settle formalities after Christmas, can you not?’

Prudence agreed that she could. ‘There is a great deal to go over with the lawyer. The work will not begin until the new year. I shall write instructions when I reach London.’

‘And you can leave Pip with us, miss,’ said Lizzy. ‘Until you come back again.’

‘That is a very good idea,’ agreed Charity. ‘I am not entirely sure what Hannibal will make of another dog in the house.’

Prudence felt a strong reluctance to leave her little friend behind. ‘I don’t think I can bear any more goodbyes,’ she confessed. ‘Could we contrive to take him and keep him and Hannibal apart?’

Charity thought they could try, but Leon reminded her what had happened to the stable dog recently. Charity agreed, adding that it wasn’t that Hannibal was vicious or anything, he was just over friendly with dogs, and had a tendency to flatten them. This made Prudence’s mind up, and she let Amos lure Pip away with potted ham, to be shut up in the kitchens until she had gone.

There was plenty of bustle and activity in the next half hour as the carriage was loaded and tearful farewells were made. By the time Prudence sat back in the carriage she felt exhausted. But every time she leaned back and closed her eyes she saw Sir Robert’s face as he had looked the moment before he walked out of her door. Perhaps out of her life altogether.

She felt all over again the blow of his withdrawal. It was as though all the time they had spent together had been wiped away. All those walks and drives together, the conversations, the words he had said, the looks he had given. She was not a romantic fool, she told herself – she had not imagined things that were not there – he had cared for her. She was sure of it. What had changed?

Everything has changed , he had said. How could he leave her like that? How could he disregard her feelings so utterly that he would not even explain himself to her? Indignation and anger began to mingle with the pain.

But it was no use dwelling on that scene. She was in a carriage with her talkative sister and her equally talkative nephew. They were excited to be on their way to town where they would see friends and enjoy the Christmas festivities. They wanted her to be part of their family and their celebrations, and she could not let them down.

Somehow, though it took every particle of strength, she pushed down her sorrow, her bewilderment, her feeling of abandonment by one whom she had trusted. The carriage rolled on, and Prudence forced herself to be as cheerful as her companions. Little could they guess how much it cost her.