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CHAPTER XXIV

That summer – the first since her launch – was one long disappointment. It rained for the races. The ball was a poor one. Cassy was darling and brave but, quite understandably, in no sort of mood to have fun; the Knight boys all chose to join their brother in Chawton. Mary went through the motions of the Kent social season, but her mind was brimful of one person alone. And, at last, she understood her own purpose. She had been born to love young Mr Knight. But would he distinguish her by loving her in return? She had left him too suddenly to form any idea. And so by her own cowardice, she was condemned unto turmoil.

Clearly, the stench of distress rose up as a cloud which drifted to Smeeth, for the bluebottle had returned in mid-August. Mary had suspected he might. The Mama still bore the wounds of the Lord George debacle, and it seemed that the only cure she could possibly think of was another match. Nothing too ambitious, mind; no need to frighten the horses. Just a sensible arrangement between two reliable parties. To that end, Fanny returned to Dr Knatchbull’s cause with renewed vigour, and took the added precaution of recruiting Sir Edward.

‘My dear child,’ her father announced at the end of dinner one evening. ‘Let us talk.’

When Mary found herself led not into the drawing room as was traditional, but out on to the gravel, she sensed it was ominous. This was very much the parents’ preserve.

‘It occurs that I have lately omitted to say how very proud of you I am, Mary.’

‘Thank you, Papa.’

‘A young lady’s life is not always easy, I know. Temptations abound; pitfalls lurk in your path. Your dear mother and I are most encouraged to see that you conduct yourself still, as you did as a child, with fine, Christian excellence.’

‘I do try, Papa.’ So Fanny had not mentioned the flirting, then. That he might ever hear of it! Or discover that she went riding alone, brushed her bare hand against … Mary felt herself blush.

‘We see it, my dear, and we are pleased. Indeed, if I may for one moment put aside all humility, I feel I can now congratulate myself. Did I not always, from your very first days, stress the importance of your goodness to me?’

‘Oh, yes, Papa. You were so clear on the matter that I could never forget it.’ They turned once again. Mary was close to dizzy. ‘Strait is the gate, and narrow the way … The prouder I made you, the better you would love me. That was the gist, I believe.’

‘Mary Dorothea!’ He stopped and stared at her. ‘I never— You are my firstborn! My treasure! You are everything to—’

‘Thank you, Papa.’ If only he had said that at the time, then how different their histories would have been. With a tight, hidden sigh, Mary led him to walking again.

‘To return to my point. It is a comfort to me to know that you have grown into a woman whose head cannot be turned.’ And out of nowhere, as if he could not help himself, the roar came upon him. ‘One to hold friendship higher than passion . To favour the familiar over the foreign …’ This went on for some time until, seemingly spent, Sir Edward fell into silence and the pair turned yet again.

At last, as if starting a quite different subject, he spoke up. ‘Our guest, Dr Knatchbull.’

‘My uncle, Papa?’ she asked, quite demure.

‘Come, come. Only a pedant would address him so, surely. We are not of the same mother ! One must not be enslaved to formality .’

Mary raised a brow at the gravel. Over the years, she had somehow formed the impression that Sir Edward was formality’s friend.

‘The gentleman has asked that he might drive you to Sandgate one day this week. The seaside , my dear. A little excursion . Such a pleasant idea – I am minded to permit it.’ He squeezed her arm with his own. ‘It would do you some good.’

There was nothing for it but that Mary should fall victim to another mysterious illness. She kept to her room, doctors were called and leeches applied yet again. From her place on the pillow, she studied the clear, summer skies and, for the first time in her life, longed for the autumn – half agony; half hope.

At last, on 11 October 1825, life started anew. More than that, when Mary looked back on it later, she saw it was the day her life truly began.

She had already heard that the Knight family was recently returned to Godmersham, but had no idea if Ned was of the party or if he had remained in Chawton. Mary could hardly ask Fanny, though she might die of not knowing.

So when she went down to dinner that evening, Mary was quite unprepared.

‘Ah, my dear.’ Fanny was gleaming with pleasure. ‘You remember this Mr Knight? I am sure you must have met at some point, though one could forgive you for struggling to keep track of us all.’

Ned rose and bowed; Mary curtseyed then, rather shakily, sat. While Sir Edward said grace, she bent her head low and gave every impression of harking his words with the piety of a nun, newly professed. But for once, the prayer was a short one and, before she had truly collected herself, dinner began.

‘Something of a red-letter day for us, Mary,’ the Mother went on, ‘for my brother is come for a dine-and-sleep. Have you ever done so before, Ned? I do believe this is the first. Darling, do say.’ Fanny put a hand on his arm. ‘What can I possibly have done to merit such an honour ?’

Ned flicked open his napkin and smiled into his wine glass. ‘Nothing in particular, Fan. Other than I have decided to stay in Kent from now through to Christmas – the odd matter to pursue – leads to be followed – and thought it might be my opportunity to enjoy these pleasant surroundings at last.’

Mary’s heart danced in her breast as she studied her lap. He had come – might she hope? – could it be that he had come here to court her?

Firmly, he turned to the head of the table. ‘Though, sir, I should hate to impose, but my brothers do speak most highly of the shoot you have grown since taking over the estate.’

Sir Edward’s enormous capacity for taking offence was outweighed only by his weakness for flattery. And any compliment to his estate in particular had the potential to quite alter his mood. So now, seemingly to his own great surprise as well as that of the company, he went into some detail about drives and stocks and, at the end, appeared almost stunned to hear himself extend a warm welcome.

‘Then I look forward to it,’ Ned replied earnestly. ‘Furthermore, I was wondering – though do say if it is inconvenient – might I accompany you to the Quarter Sessions – watch you at work? As I have hopes of having a similar role soon, in my own county, the opportunity of observing such an experienced …’

It seemed that he was, in fact, courting her father! Too astonished to eat, Mary put down her fork and returned her gaze to her lap. The two previous dinners these men shared had ended in warfare. Yet this time – she stole a glance from under her lashes – her father was positively purring with pleasure.

‘And Miss Knatchbull.’

She had no choice but to look up.

‘I hope you are well.’ His wide eyes met hers, but if there was a message within them she could not read it. ‘And have you been able to ride out at all? The weather has not been much on our side.’

Fanny cut in. ‘I have secured Mary a rather good grey , Ned. And, at my suggestion – I do think it good for our girls – she rides out, with Daniel of course, early most mornings.’ To the table: ‘My brother is quite an exceptional horseman, you know …’

The evening ended early – Sir Edward was tired. And for Mary, the night stretched eternal. The thought of that gentleman under her roof was hardly conducive to rest. Did the Mother say the Green Room? But that was just over the landing! So only two walls between them … She was up and dressed soon after eight.

‘You are better, then,’ Booker approved. ‘Will you look at that bloom?’

And well before nine, she was saddled up and quite ready. But where should she head?

At a loss for any other alternative, Mary innocently trotted towards the place where they had parted, all those long months ago. Coming now to the limits of the property, she slowed down at the hedgerow now heavy with dark fruit: looked over to the yew at the edge of the property.

And saw, from behind its great boughs, the dear person of Lord Byron emerge.