Page 8 of Mrs. Merritt’s Remorse (Lord Dere’s Dependents #2)

But I could acquaint you with a stranger piece of news than any you have heard yet.

—Fanny Burney, Cecelia (1782)

If Mrs. Lamb had failed to do her job properly in the previous two days, she compensated with an announcement so astounding that the village rang with it.

“Yes, it’s true,” the woman declared to the latest group of curious neighbors, a group which included Jane and Frances. “Greenwood Hall has been let, to none other than Mr. Alexander Beck, who stayed here recently. He has closed with the agent and will take possession on Friday, the first of October.”

“What does one man need with such a house, if the child will be at the rectory?” asked one. “Greenwood Hall is second only to Perryfield in size.”

“Maybe the child will not board with the Egertons after all,” said another.

“Mr. Beck said nothing of removing the boy from the rectory,” said Mrs. Lamb decisively. “Maybe he means to have London people down.”

“Where will he find enough servants?”

“Maybe he will bring down his London servants as well.”

More murmurs rippled through the gathering, though whether at the idea of additional London visitors or the possibility of their own servants being poached was unclear. And though Mrs. Lamb was generous with details of Beck’s looks, amiability as an inn guest, what food and drink he requested or praised during his stay, and what the maid thought of his neatness or wardrobe, it was soon obvious to Jane and Frances that there was nothing more substantial to learn, and they resumed their walk.

“Do you suppose Mrs. Markham Dere and the baron have heard yet?” asked Frances as they skirted the upper field.

“Surely. Wood would have told them when he brought the post. Mrs. Dere wouldn’t deign to seek further crumbs of information from Mrs. Lamb, but she is likely eaten up with curiosity.”

“Let’s call at Perryfield, then,” Frances suggested. “And then walk home along Wallingford Way, so we may pass Greenwood Hall.”

However little Jane wanted to see Mrs. Dere, such a loop would take them past the rectory on the return leg, and she agreed to the plan. Moreover, she had the gratification of seeing she had guessed Mrs. Dere’s curiosity correctly, for even before they reached the Perryfield gate they spied her through the gap in the wall, pacing the front lawn.

“Good morning, madam,” called Frances with a wave. “We have just come from the Tree Inn, and you cannot imagine the news we bring.”

This was just the right note to strike, for then Mrs. Dere could pretend indifference and ignorance. “Indeed? Good morning to you, Frances, Mrs. Merritt. Why don’t you take a turn about the grounds with me and tell me about it?”

“It will be told before we are even to the first corner,” said Frances, positioning herself between her sister and Mrs. Dere, where she knew both of them would prefer her. “Everyone thought Mr. Beck would return to town after having disposed of young Archie Wilson, but now Mrs. Lamb says he has taken a lease on Greenwood Hall, to take possession on the first of October!”

“Goodness!” said Mrs. Dere with convincing incredulity. “Whatever for?”

“No one can say. He did call at Iffley Cottage briefly, the day after he nearly ran Jane down, and he asked about the shooting in Iffley, so perhaps he comes to shoot.”

“He called at the cottage?” This time the surprise was genuine, and Jane detected a note of indignation that Perryfield’s preeminence had been overlooked.

“I don’t suppose he would have, if not for the accident,” Jane spoke up. “After all, we none of us were acquainted with the other.”

“When the baron and I came we did not see Mr. Beck,” she said, affronted, as if the Barstows might have hidden the man behind the sofa.

“He came later—perhaps an hour afterward,” explained Jane. “And apparently he had already met the Egertons, because, as they were present when he arrived, Miss Egerton made the introductions.”

“In any event,” resumed Frances, applying her usual salve to Mrs. Dere’s wounded pride, “I know you disapproved of Archie Wilson, madam—whom we still have not seen, as Mr. Beck did not bring him along—but I daresay if Mr. Beck intends to live at Greenwood Hall, he will certainly hope to know you and the baron. The question is, will you wish to know him? I must say, he was a well-dressed, handsome man and seemed courteous enough.”

“Hmm.”

But the girls could see her mind working. A well-dressed, handsome man who could afford both a house in town and one in Oxfordshire was naturally allowed greater scope for “irregularity” than a shabby, plain, poor one. In fairness to Mrs. Markham Dere, her improved consideration of Mr. Beck was hardly singular.

“We will know him,” Mrs. Dere pronounced at last, with a lift of her chin. “It would be unneighborly to do otherwise, and truly, my greater fear was the influence that Archie Wilson’s company might have on Peter. There will be no danger to Peter from the adults having social intercourse with the—guardian.”

“Very reasonable,” Frances concurred, and Jane suspected only a sister would have caught the infinitesimal quiver of amusement in her reply.

“In fact, I suppose as the first family in the district, it behooves the baron and me to host a welcome dinner,” Mrs. Dere sighed. “I may count on you to play for us, Frances?”

“Yes, madam.”

“I suppose cards might also be fitting.”

“He will likely welcome whatever you propose.”

More questions followed, similar to those posed to Mrs. Lamb, and though the sisters could not answer them any better than the postmistress had, when they took their leave Mrs. Dere was quite cheerfully planning her reception of the man she had so recently disdained to know.

From Perryfield the walk to Greenwood Hall was an easy one, the road dry but not too dirty, apart from a few passing carts flinging up dust. No wall enclosed the three-storey 17 th -century brick-and-stone home, but it sat in a modest park beside a pond, solid, symmetrical, and just visible from the road. It had ever been quiet and deserted the other times they walked by, but this time it was a positive hive of activity. The front door stood open, and the very carts which had passed Frances and Jane were drawn up to be unloaded. A sturdy woman emerged on the step, and though they could not hear her at this distance, it was obvious she was directing the proceedings.

“My word,” said Frances. “Do you suppose all these people are sent by the landlord or by Mr. Beck?”

Jane shrugged. “With any luck, one of them will go into the village for something, and then Mrs. Lamb will discover all. Come along.”

“He must be very rich, to rent such a house for himself on a whim.”

“Or very extravagant.”

“And he is undoubtedly handsome.”

Jane halted to peer at her younger sister. “You mustn’t form a tendre for him, Frances. We know almost nothing about him, except that he is somehow responsible for Archie Wilson.”

“Why can’t I like him?” Frances retorted. “I’m seventeen—the perfect age to imagine myself in love. I don’t suppose anything will come of it because he looks a little old. Even thirty, possibly. Though, of course, Della was engaged to Lord Dere, and he was at least as many years her senior!”

“Della wasn’t in love with the baron,” Jane chided. “And even if she had been, Lord Dere might be old as the hills, but he is kind and respectable.”

“Why do you say it like that? Do you think Mr. Beck is not? It could be that Archie Wilson is not his son, you know. He might have been left on Mr. Beck’s hands by any number of people, for any number of reasons.”

Jane made a face. “If he was, I think that would be something Mr. Beck would be quick to advertise. No, I’m sorry to say, I suspect Mrs. Dere was right in her initial caution, however willing she is now to put it aside.”

“Oh, pooh! I suppose you mean to have him yourself,” said Frances slyly.

“Nonsense!” cried Jane, coloring.

“He found you very interesting when he called,” her sister persisted. “More interesting than me, at any rate, to judge by the number of times he looked at you or spoke to you, compared to me.”

“Honestly! If it had been you he nearly ran down with his gig, I expect you would have come in for your share.”

“But really, Jane, you didn’t find him attractive?”

Jane’s color deepened, but not because Frances had made a lucky guess. Rather, she blushed because it was not the charming newcomer who appeared just then in her mind’s eye. But she only said, “Mr. Beck is good-looking enough. But I don’t think of him for myself because I will never marry again. Therefore you may trust my impartiality when I tell you he would not make a good match for you.”

They continued in thoughtful silence until the lane crossing the fields met with Church Way. Because the trees were still in full leaf, Jane’s view of the church was obscured, but her pulse quickened nonetheless, and she forgot all about Mr. Beck until Frances said, “He will cause a stir, you know.”

“Who will?”

“Why, Mr. Beck! Who else could I mean? There are quite a few unmarried ladies in Iffley—Sarah, you, me, Miss Egerton, that Miss Hynde person who is coming to visit, Mrs. Dere, even … Yes—quite a few unmarried ladies and very few unmarried gentlemen—or at least ones which everyone in Iffley hasn’t known for years.”

“There’s—Mr. Egerton,” ventured Jane.

Frances flipped a dismissive hand. “Certainly Mr. Egerton is unmarried, but don’t you think it more likely he already has his eye on his uncle’s ward, or she on him? Why else would Miss Hynde be coming to Iffley? Therefore we are left with Mr. Beck.”

“Well, you may strike Sarah and me from the list of contenders,” rejoined Jane, “and I would strike you , so that leaves Miss Egerton and Mrs. Dere to fight over him. And Miss Hynde, if she comes to prefer him.” She could not prevent a wistful smile at the thought of Miss Hynde choosing Mr. Beck—what would Mr. Egerton do, if his chosen one flitted away?

Frances saw the smile and nudged her with a playful elbow. “Are you thinking of Mrs. Dere losing her heart to Mr. Beck? It would be delightful to witness, wouldn’t it? And imagine how pleasant our lives would be if she married him and removed to town!”

“So pleasant,” echoed Jane guiltily.

As they drew nearer the church, Jane held an inward debate: was it wrong to want to stop at the rectory? She would like to know if Miss Egerton had yet spoken to her brother about their proposed parish school, but was that the real and entire reason Jane sought an excuse?

It was not, she had to admit. Because it was also true that she had not seen Mr. Egerton for some days. If not for that, she might have been willing to let Miss Egerton call first. Indeed, that was what she and the curate’s sister had decided on Sunday, wasn’t it? Yes. Yes it was. Biting her lip, she reproved herself, but then it was Frances who dropped the excuse in her lap.

“I warrant the Egertons don’t know the news yet,” she said eagerly. “Should we stop in and tell them?”

“But they will be busy, Frances,” Jane answered, now as willing to avoid the Egertons as she had been hopeful of seeing them a moment before. Such yearnings of hers were reprehensible and therefore must be checked. “The Terrys only left, and Archie Wilson only arrived on Monday.”

“And today is Thursday. I say they’ve had long enough. Oh, don’t look like that, Jane! All right, we needn’t call, but let’s just traipse through the churchyard. We might even peep into the church, that way we could say we were wondering if they wanted us to make some garlands for Michaelmas.”

The ruse proved unnecessary, however, for no sooner did they enter the churchyard than they met Miss Egerton on the gravel path approaching them.

“Mrs. Merritt! Miss Barstow. I was just setting out to call at Iffley Cottage,” she greeted them warmly. “But now that you are here, you must come back with me to meet Archie and to hear all I have to tell.”

Frances tugged on Jane’s not-unwilling arm, and the sisters followed, though Frances whispered, “Drat! She already knows. I begin to understand Mrs. Lamb’s joy in always being the first to tell.”

Jane made no response, being too occupied with maintaining her outward calm.

“This way,” said Miss Egerton, beckoning them into the room directly off the entry.

“Behold!” she sang. “What do you think of our new parish schoolroom?”

Jane’s delight was unfeigned, for the small parlor had been fitted with a large square table, an assortment of chairs, a shelf holding several books, and a framed blackboard. A faded rug covered much of the floor, and sausage-shaped pillows were tucked at the base of the windows to prevent unwelcome drafts.

“It’s perfect, Miss Egerton! Does this mean your brother approves of our plan?”

“Philip says it’s a splendid idea, if only Harry Barbary will agree to it. He thinks we won’t have any difficulty persuading the Cramthorpes.”

“Good thing there are two of you,” said Frances, “because then one of you can sit on Harry Barbary at all times, so he doesn’t run away.”

The curate’s sister laughed. “Why, Philip said nearly the same thing—I was just trying to put it in more exalted terms. There’s no doubt we will have our hands full, Miss Barstow, but one can but try.”

“Shall I speak to the Barbarys, and you to the Cramthorpes, or vice versa?” asked Jane. “I might have better luck than you with the Barbarys because, even if the boy feels no remorse, his mother might.”

“We will shake on it,” declared Miss Egerton, holding out her hand. “I think Harry Barbary and old Mrs. Cramthorpe are equal bargains, if you ask me. Now come—wouldn’t you like to meet Archie Wilson?”

“But wait, Miss Egerton,” Frances said. “What of your news?”

“I’ve already told it,” she replied, gesturing at the schoolroom. “But I do wonder if—if you might call me Cassie. I know I’m the curate’s sister and that Philip would never go around asking people to call him by his Christian name, but we at least will be teaching together, Mrs. Merritt, and it would make me very happy if you would.”

“Yes, we would like that,” Jane answered for them both.

Clapping her hands, Frances gave a little hop. “And—Cassie—this means you don’t yet know the other news flying about Iffley!”

“What news would that be?” came a voice from the doorway, causing all three young ladies to start.

For all Frances’ delight in being the tale-bearer, she had not pictured her glee being observed by the village priest, and in her confusion words abruptly failed her, leaving her to hum and haw until Jane interposed. “Frances means to say that Mr. Beck has rented Greenwood Hall, a large house not far from Perryfield. But—perhaps Archie has already mentioned it.”

“He has not.” Even as he bowed, his eyes flicked from Frances to her, and Jane had the idle thought that he gathered himself to do so because he withdrew his gaze almost as soon as it touched on her. Why?

“Archie hasn’t mentioned anything if he could help it, as you will see,” whispered Cassie, mouth twitching. “But isn’t that marvelous, Philip? Mr. Beck at Greenwood Hall and Miss Hynde soon to be with us. Your flock increases providentially, like Jacob’s.”

When it did not appear Mr. Egerton was going to answer his sister’s remark, Frances recovered enough to ask, “How soon will Miss Hynde be here? Mr. Beck takes possession on the first of October—next Friday. And Mrs. Dere at Perryfield has come round enough to say she will host a dinner for him!”

“There’s a turnabout!” declared Cassie. “Mrs. Dere’s decision to embrace Mr. Beck—I speak metaphorically—will relieve her mind greatly about the whole Archie business, I daresay.”

“Yes,” said Jane, “that is what Frances and I think.”

“Miss Hynde will be here by next Friday as well,” Mr. Egerton replied shortly in answer to Frances.

“Did you need something, Philip?” his sister asked.

“Thank you, no. I—heard voices and came to investigate.”

“May I introduce them to Archie, then? It will be good practice for him, to be made to speak.”

“Does he not speak?” wondered Frances.

“See for yourself,” said Cassie airily, leading the way from the room. Her brother stood aside to allow the young ladies to precede him, and this time Jane did so without mishap, though she was terribly conscious of him behind her in the passage.

Stop this nonsense at once, Jane Merritt!

A scuffle and a scramble were heard in what Jane thought of as the Terrys’ parlor when they entered, but when she peered around Cassie’s shoulder she saw the two Tommies at their table, Tommy Wardour innocently consulting an open book and Tom Ellis pointing his pencil with a pocketknife.

“Where has Archie gone?” Cassie asked them, even as they stood to receive Jane and Frances.

Ten-year-old Tommy Wardour gave an unconvincing shrug, but fourteen-year-old Tom Ellis silently pointed under the table.

“What? Good heavens!” Cassie instantly dropped to her knees. “Archie, dear, whatever are you doing down there? Come out at once. We have guests.”

This command meeting with neither compliance nor argument, Jane and Frances could not resist leaning down themselves to look under the table. Two great round eyes blinked at them from beneath unruly hair, all belonging to a small boy tucked with his knees to his chest in the farthest corner.

Rueful sympathy rippled through Jane. How many times, after all, since her crushing scandal, had she wanted to do exactly what Archie Wilson was doing, when there were new people or new situations to be faced?

Giving him a tiny wave, she straightened, tugging Frances up with her. “Good afternoon, Tommies,” she said loudly, “how are your studies faring?”

The boys answered readily enough, and their conversation succeeded in drowning whatever the Egertons were having to say or do to persuade Archie Wilson to come out.

At last it was accomplished, Frances smothering a giggle when the curate backed out on his hands and knees and rapped the back of his head on the edge of the table. There stood little Archie Wilson, flushed and rumpled and faintly defiant, but Jane recognized it for the shyness it was. His little face transformed, however, as he stared at her, his diffidence fading away, to be replaced by something unreadable.

“Archie,” said Mr. Egerton, not unkindly, “these are two of our neighbors, Mrs. Merritt and Miss Barstow. They have a younger brother not many years older than you. Can you say, ‘How do you do?’ to them?”

The boy mumbled something. Cassie’s lips parted (doubtless to urge Archie to enunciate), but her brother gave the smallest shake of his head, and she desisted.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” murmured Jane, a little discomfited by the child’s intense regard. To hide her confusion, she turned away and resumed talking with the Tommies. While she wondered how Archie would like his guardian taking up residence at Greenwood Hall, it was probably best he receive the news in privacy, and Jane nodded a hint at Frances.

When the Egertons accompanied them to the door, however, she did say on impulse, “Mr. Egerton, I am so pleased that you approve our plan—Cassie’s and mine—of teaching Harry Barbary and the Cramthorpes.”

“It is a generous one,” he said quietly. “Whether it will meet with success only time will tell.”

“Yes. Well. Thank you, in any case, for letting us try and for providing the space.”

He nodded.

Cassie reached for Jane’s hand and gave it a parting squeeze, in her face all the warmth and affection absent from her brother’s.