Page 10 of Mrs. Merritt’s Remorse (Lord Dere’s Dependents #2)

Having now got sight of her face, he exclaimed, with an oath, that she was an angel.

—Henry Mackenzie, The Man of the World (1773)

After some discussion, the Egertons decided Philip would hire a cart at the Tree Inn to fetch Miss Hynde from Oxford.

“For we can’t expect her to walk two miles,” Cassie reasoned, “and we would have to hire someone to bring her trunk in any case.”

Therefore Egerton found himself driving into Oxford on Friday afternoon, Mrs. Lamb having urged him to keep an eye open for Mr. Beck, “for he’s due to take possession of Greenwood Hall today, but I don’t suppose I’ll see him. A gentleman like that will have his own means of getting about.”

“He had the gig,” Egerton reminded her.

“That’s right! The gig that almost knocked down Mrs. Merritt, but for your quick thinking, sir.”

“I was glad to be on the spot,” he said for the hundredth time.

But Mrs. Merritt was on his mind as he set out. When he had approved the front room for the parish schoolroom, he had not thought whether it would be advisable for such a person as Mrs. Merritt to be at the rectory so often, when Miss Hynde would also be there. For did he not have a responsibility to both Miss Hynde and to his uncle Geoffrey to guard the girl’s innocence and spotless character? It was one thing for Miss Hynde to encounter the likes of Harry Barbary and the Cramthorpes—for “ye have the poor always with you,” as was understood—but Mrs. Merritt was not the poor as the Bible understood the poor. She was poor in spirit, perhaps, and poor in means, but not poor in education nor poor in her original station in life.

No—her fatal poverty had lain elsewhere.

She had proven herself, by her own admission, poor in character.

And while Philip lauded her recent attempts to amend her past with good works, there was no denying redemption required more than a few weeks. What then was to be done in the meantime? Should Miss Hynde be warned against her? Be cautioned with Mrs. Merritt’s story?

She must, he decided, as he turned into Berrye Lane. Because the alternative—were Miss Hynde to learn the truth through gossip or, worse, were she to mention Mrs. Merritt in her letters to his cousin Martha and Martha to learn the truth—well, the result would be in all respects regrettable.

He could picture Martha’s response already. She would undoubtedly write to Cassie (in full knowledge the letter would be read to Philip), reminding her that “evil communications corrupt good manners.” And the Egertons would be obliged to defend themselves when Philip was not certain he would be thoroughly in the right. An untenable position. The thought of Martha’s imagined criticism provoked an inexplicable surge of protectiveness toward Mrs. Merritt, however, but he was crossing Magdalen Bridge and had no time to analyze his feelings.

Drawing up in the coachyard Egerton tossed the reins to an ostler and jumped down. “Has the Witney coach come?”

“Oh, aye. If you’re here for the young lady, she’s in the coffee room.”

Conscious of his heart beating faster, Egerton pushed his way inside, where, despite the many people seated or milling about, he spied her at once beside the window, hands folded in her lap and a maid guarding her like a dragon its den. This maid said something to her mistress, and Miss Hynde’s head lifted at once, dimpling in a demure smile. A bar of sunlight haloed the golden hair peeping from her cap, lighting as well her blue, blue eyes and the rose of her cheeks. More than one head turned in admiration, and he heard behind him a murmured, “What an angel!”

Egerton felt the swell of pride any young man would have felt, to claim the acquaintance of such a vision, but he was nevertheless aware that, barring the maid’s presence, the upcoming drive would mark the first time the two of them were ever alone. And suddenly he wished he had made a list of things to talk about or questions to ask. One couldn’t simply stare at a girl—especially when one was driving—however angelic she might be.

She waited for him to cross the room, of course, being too well-mannered to wave or call out, but by the time he reached her she was on her feet to make her curtsey.

“I hope you have not been waiting long, Miss Hynde.”

“Not at all, Mr. Egerton,” she replied. “Has Cassie not come with you?”

“With three pupils at the rectory, the youngest not even seven, we thought it best if she remained. Would you prefer to take some refreshment before we go?”

To his mingled relief and dismay she refused, so there was nothing to do but be on their way.

There was her trunk to be seen to, at least, and then she must be handed up and her maid deposited on the bench in the cart bed and the ostler tipped. Then Egerton must negotiate the horse into the High Street. But when these things were done the work must begin.

“I hope you left my uncle and cousin in good health?”

“Very good.”

“And your journey—how was it? Any difficulties along the way?”

“None at all, thank you.” She was looking with interest at their surroundings, and Egerton pointed out the Friary, the Physic Garden, Magdalen’s gate and tower, the Cherwell.

“What a fine day,” Miss Hynde remarked. “September can be hot and dusty, but today is the first of October.”

There was no denying either fact, but nor could he think of any ready response.

“I am glad it does not rain,” she continued with a charming laugh and a toss of her head. Though it was not a coquettish toss, it made the small curls framing her face bounce beautifully.

Think of something to say! he adjured himself.

“I too,” was the meager result.

This drew another laugh from her—perhaps she thought his awkwardness amusing, but it had the happy result of making her take charge of the conversation.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am you and Cassie let me come, Mr. Egerton. Even if you both live very quietly, it will be a new quiet from life at Cottrell, if you understand me. And the faces I see will be new faces, and novelty is always welcome. Even the people I met when you read yourself in intrigued me, and I hope to know more of them. Have you any favorites among them yet? There was a little man with a beard like a goat and then one very pretty lady—what was her name? I will have to learn everyone’s names again. But she sat across the aisle from me in the church and spoke with Cassie afterward. She had a veil. She was the only one that morning wearing a veil.”

“I suppose you mean—Mrs.—er—Mrs. Merritt,” answered Egerton.

“Oh, dear! If you are not certain of her name either, I had better ask Cassie before I address her.”

“No. I’m certain. It’s Mrs. Merritt.” Feeling abruptly warm, he ran a finger under his neckcloth, despite it being, as Miss Hynde so helpfully pointed out, the first of October.

“Mrs. Merritt,” repeated Miss Hynde. “And was Mr. Merritt there that morning?”

After having worried how he might introduce the subject of Mrs. Merritt’s personal history, here it was, and with the gate opened for him. Well, he had asked for it, hadn’t he? The opportunity to put Miss Hynde on her guard.

But Egerton had not been prepared for the tightening of his throat or the sudden stab of uncertainty. Come, man. What are you waiting for?

Vexed with himself, Egerton swallowed and plunged ahead. “There was no Mr. Merritt there,” he blurted. “Because—he’s dead.”

“Heavens!” cried Miss Hynde, more surprised by his clumsy manner than by the information imparted.

“It’s been a couple years now, I think,” he blundered onward, deciding he may as well be hanged for an old sheep as a young lamb. “Which is why she does not wear mourning. But I’d better warn you, Miss Hynde, that hers was a foolish, doomed match. Despite her late father’s disapproval of Merritt, it seems she eloped with the man.”

“Eloped!” she breathed, marveling. “My word. And she looks so sweet and sad! I don’t believe it. She really, truly ran away with a man?”

“Er—yes.” Miss Hynde might not be blushing at this disclosure, but Egerton was. “Yes. After which scandal and imprudence, Merritt’s own family disowned him, leaving the two of them nothing to live upon.”

“Goodness gracious.” She was shaking her head in wonderment. “Then what happened?”

“Then…because they had no income, Merritt soon ran up debts he could not pay. That is—in short—he was arrested for debt and thrown in the Fleet Prison. She went with him, of course. Mrs. Merritt, I mean. And that was where her husband died. In prison. In the Fleet.”

Had Egerton unloaded a wagon of coal on Miss Hynde’s angelic head, it could hardly have been more unexpected, and she was for a minute confounded.

“To think!” she murmured. And again, “I don’t believe it. What a tale you are telling me, sir! It must be a tale—an idle one meant to tease me. And if it is, it is hardly courteous of you.”

“It is no tale,” he said grimly. “I have told it ungracefully, but it is the plain truth. And I thought you had better know because—Mrs. Merritt and Cassie have engaged to teach a parish school at the rectory a few mornings a week. That is, you will likely see much of Mrs. Merritt, and—and—”

“And you wished to warn me off?” Miss Hynde hazarded.

It was exactly what he wished, he supposed, but for whatever reason it vexed him further to have her name it.

She wasn’t listening for his answer in any case, being too amazed. Tapping gloved fingertips against her lips, she shook her head, repeating, “Good gracious! An elopement and—and prison! My word. And then he died. My, my, my. How—tragic for them.”

“Tragic?” He frowned. “Yes, I suppose it was. But it was a tragedy which could easily have been avoided. The word ‘tragic’ would be better reserved for the unavoidable category of ruin, the sort which arrives through no fault of one’s own.”

Miss Hynde was young and full of suitably youthful dreams of love, which might explain why she flashed him a look then—one which it would not be a stretch to call pitying . Pitying, with perhaps the slightest tinge of distaste. But Egerton was staring straight ahead at the road and saw nothing.

Being a penniless orphan, however, Miss Hynde had long learned to recognize on which side her bread was buttered, and she thus set aside her own feelings now to enter into his (or what she imagined were his). “Goodness,” she began again. “How shocking. I see why you chose to share her tale with me. After all, what will your cousin Martha think, to know I will be so frequently in company with such a person? You and Cassie have been very forbearing, I daresay, to receive Mrs. Merritt. Not only to receive her, but to allow her scope for…redemption. But, yes, Martha will be scandalized.”

“This is why I felt I should give you warning,” Egerton replied through a stiff jaw.

“How I admire the clergy!” she sighed. “Their duty toward their flock, no matter how speckled the sheep, and in the face of possible criticism. Nor would I want to make difficulties for you and Cassie, but I can hardly hide this from Martha, can I? She will disapprove of Mrs. Merritt’s unfortunate history as much as you do, you know, and I’m afraid she will certainly write to you to express her opinion. But you will simply have to explain that, at heart, you and she are in perfect accord on the matter. Oh!” she cried, her little gloved hand clutching the seat beneath her, “Careful there, Mr. Egerton—you nearly scraped that hedge. Do you think Martha would go so far as to call Mrs. Merritt a fallen woman ? I think not—because that is not exactly right, is it? Mrs. Merritt would be a fallen woman only if she and Mr. Merritt had never married, isn’t that so?”

“Miss Hynde,” interrupted Egerton, when he could bear no more, “you must tell my cousin whatever you like. I would not have you think anything must be hidden. And Martha must be free to have whatever opinions thereon which she cares to. It would be worth mentioning in your letter, however, that Mrs. Merritt is a first cousin once removed of Lord Dere of Perryfield, and the Deres, at least, have chosen to let bygones be bygones.”

“Thank you, sir. That is a very good point and a weighty one. It’s only that—if you will forgive me for saying so—your cousin Martha can be so very…proper and—strait-laced. I myself am prepared to like anyone you and Cassie like, and indeed I admire you both all the more for overlooking Mrs. Merritt’s…youthful indiscretions, shall we say. So I hope Martha will come around to your way of thinking, but I must confess to you, she already had much to say to Mr. Cottrell about you teaching Archie Wilson.”

Miss Hynde continued in the same vein, but in truth he was no longer attending, being too disturbed by her disagreeable comparison between himself and his cousin Martha. He and Martha Cottrell “in perfect accord on the matter”? He and Martha Cottrell, whom Egerton would without a qualm have called priggish, prudish, prim? Being likened to her vexed him, and his first instinct was to reject it as nonsense.

And yet—

The cart brushed another hedge, and with effort Egerton relaxed his tension on the reins. It would hardly serve to drive off the road and give Mrs. Lamb more grist to grind.

But truly—was he indeed like his cousin Martha?

Egerton considered himself an honest man, one willing always to acknowledge the proverbial beam in his own eye before he beheld the mote in his brother’s, but granting this particular—characteristic—pained him. Yet there it seemed to be, so plain that even the ingenuous Miss Hynde remarked it. He had felt the need to warn Miss Hynde against Mrs. Merritt for the very reasons his cousin Martha would have done so.

Which meant he was, to some considerable degree, Martha-ish.

He was, to some considerable degree, priggish, prudish, prim.

He felt ill.

At the Tree Inn, the ostler climbed into the cart to help them unload at the rectory and return the vehicle, and though Egerton was quick, Mrs. Lamb was quicker.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hynde! You are very welcome again to Iffley. We will be glad to have that cart back shortly, sir, because there are all manner of items to be delivered to Greenwood Hall, now that Mr. Beck has come to take up his lease. Did you chance to see our other new resident when you arrived at the Angel Inn, Miss Hynde? Mr. Beck, Archie Wilson’s guardian , shall we say? You are not acquainted with him? Ah—somehow, in all the excitement, I thought your earlier visits overlapped, but of course I believe he was in Oxford when you and the Cottrells were here. He’s not a man easily to be forgotten—so handsome and fashionable! Oh! On your way already, Mr. Egerton? Yes, well, off you go. Good-bye, good-bye!”

“What does she mean about a lease?” asked Miss Hynde, one hand to her bonnet as they jolted away again. “Is Mr. Beck making another visit, or is already come to take your new pupil away?”

Briefly Egerton explained the letting of the hall, and this time she was silent, not speaking until they were passing Iffley Cottage, where the sight of a little short-haired child playing with a dog in the front garden made Miss Hynde clap her hands in delight. “Who is that, Mr. Egerton? That little boy? It was a boy, wasn’t it?”

He gave the barest glance. “Sebastian Barstow. Better known as Bash. The nephew of the Mrs. Merritt we were discussing. Her late brother’s son.”

“Another ‘late’?” she breathed. “That poor family!”

She really did have the compassion of an angel, Egerton congratulated himself. The beauty of an angel, the compassion of an angel—she would be a welcome addition to the rectory. Her innocence and native kindness an example to the village. Yes, let other young ladies learn from her. He would himself endeavor to learn from her, for if he did indeed currently resemble his cousin Martha in the most unappealing ways, perhaps Miss Hynde could shape him for the better.

All these resolutions Philip Egerton made as he drew up to the rectory gate and climbed down, passing the reins to the ostler. And in the ensuing hubbub, where he assisted Miss Hynde and her maid to alight, and the Tommies and Cassie appeared to greet the guest, and the servants wrestled with Miss Hynde’s trunk, and Egerton settled the account with the ostler—in all this activity he did not once allow his thoughts to stray. He did not once think of the Iffley Cottage residents or how, while Miss Hynde’s eye had been drawn to little Bash and the Barstow lapdog Poppet, Egerton himself glimpsed beyond both these charming figures the open front door, in which was framed Mrs. Merritt in profile, her apron being untied by Bash’s mother. Mrs. Merritt, without cap or bonnet, leaving all unhidden her pretty features and lush dark hair.