“Heaven forbid!” Mr. Sothey cried. “I cannot think that destruction is the wisest approach to Art. You are happy, Mr. Austen, in the possession of an estate where natural beauty and a wise hand have achieved much; the essentials of the place are so good, that a very little effort may offer considerable rewards.”
Neddie did not look appeased; there was a stiffness to his demeanour, and a caution in his air, that argued opposition to anything Mr. Sothey might counsel.
“I should like to sketch the approach from the Stour,” Mr. Sothey said with decision, “and then ascend to the ice house. We might profitably traverse the garden paths afterwards, and examine the avenue of lime trees. They are of considerable age, if I do not mistake?”
“Indeed,” Neddie replied, “and are regarded with affection by most of the populace.”
Happily, Mr. Sothey was too little intimate with my brother to read his humours in his looks; Lizzy and I were not so fortunate.
“It was ever thus,” Lizzy murmured to me. “You cannot think how many months together I was forced to urge the abandonment of your brother's periwig, and the laying aside of the powdering horn, in favour of his delightful hair! I believe a twelvemonth at least was required to achieve it; and now he would have it the change in fashion was all his own thought, and as natural as breathing. It will be the same with Mr. Sothey's views, I am sure.”
“Let us hope that Mr. Sothey does not advise the felling of Bentigh,” I replied, and prepared to follow the gentlemen down the slope.
It was just as we rounded the northern side of the house, and prepared to ascend to the ice house, that we fell in with Anne Sharpe.
She had been walking some time with Fanny and young Lizzy — the two girls had taken their dolls for an airing, and were just returned to the house intent upon refreshment. The exercise had improved the governess's looks; there was colour in her cheeks, and a brightness in her eye, that had been lacking for some days. She wore a simple day dress of pale pink muslin— her best, put on in respect of Sunday service, and not yet exchanged for another; and her dark hair peeked out from the depths of her bonnet, with all the gloss of a raven's wing. It was commendable, I thought, that she had ventured out-of-doors, despite her fear of meeting with Mr. Sothey; perhaps my warning had served to prepare her, and afforded a measure of strength.
“Miss Sharpe!” my brother cried. “How have you liked your charges today? They are easier to manage, I warrant, when the air is fresh and the sun in good regulation!”
“We are all very well, sir, I thank you,” she replied with a curtsey, “only a trifle tired. We have walked to Seaton Wood and back.” She kept her eyes trained on Neddie's face, as tho' she could not trust herself to look beyond; but her appearance was one of tolerable composure.
“So far!” Neddie cried. “Then I am sure you have carried my little Lizzy nearly half the distance.” He caught the child up in his arms, and kissed her.
“Not at all, Papa,” she said stoutly. “I was promised an extra bit of pudding with my supper, if I achieved the walk alone.”
“How very wise of Miss Sharpe. But I am forgetting my manners — I do not believe you are acquainted with our guests, Miss Sharpe. This is Mr. Sothey, and that is Mr. Finch-Hatton; Miss Sharpe, my daughters' governess.”
She curtseyed again to the two gentlemen, who doffed their hats; and I glanced quickly from the improver to the governess to observe how Mr. Sothey took the introduction. I expected a certain reserve; a circumspection, even — but he defied expectation as always.
“I am privileged in being very well-acquainted with Miss Sharpe,” he said with a bow, and the keenest look in his grey eyes. “We were so fortunate as to spend some weeks together in Weymouth, last year, while she was yet with the Portermans. Your friends are in health, I trust?”
“Very well, sir,” Miss Sharpe replied, in a barely audible tone. Her cheeks had flushed crimson from mortification; she must be suffering agonies of discovery before her employer — for never, at any mention of Mr. Sothey's name heretofore, had she admitted to the acquaintance. I felt for her, and could have abused Mr. Sothey for stupidity to his face.
He moved towards her slowly, until a very little distance separated them. “And are you equally in health and spirits, Miss Sharpe?” he enquired softly. “Or has something occurred to trouble you?”
“I believe I should be returning to the house,” she replied, and took Lizzy's hand. “Come along, Fanny. We deserve our lemon-water, after such vigourous exertion; and then perhaps we shall rest a little, until dinner is served.”
“Until dinner, then,” Mr. Sothey said, raising his hat to Miss Sharpe.
“I always take my dinner with the children, sir,” she replied distantly; and with a nod to Mr. Emilious, moved off across the lawn.
Mr. Sothey watched her go without another word. There was a compression to his lips, and an intensity in his gaze, that argued strong emotion; but he remained as ever under perfect regulation. The suspicions of the entire party must be awakened against him; even Mr. Emilious seemed to observe his friend narrowly; but the improver turned towards us all with a smile, and said gaily: “How oddly she has arranged her hair, to be sure! I have never observed anything like it. She is very much changed since last summer — quite fallen off in looks. I should hardly have known her again.”
Chapter 19
Bailing the Trap
25 August 1805, cont'd.
“I HAD EXPECTED MR. VALENTINE GREY TO DINNER,” Neddie observed, when the servants had withdrawn and we were established over our boned trout and jellied fowl, “but he has disappointed me, alas. We must endeavour to talk affairs of state without our most knowledgeable partner.”
From a hurried conference with my brother in the drawing-room before Mr. Emilious led me to the table, I had learned that The Larches returned no reply to my brother's note. If this was cause for anxiety, Neddie betrayed no sign; Mr. Grey might have gone up to London, on a matter of business, and failed even in receipt of the message. But on the morrow, Neddie vowed, Mr. Grey must be found and questioned regarding the matter of Spanish lace; for events looked to have taken so grave a turn, as to make my brother doubt the extent of his own authority.
“Mr. Grey?” Julian Sothey enquired, with an eager glance. “How I should have liked to have seen him! I came away from The Larches, you know, on the very day of his wife's tragic death; and have never been so fortunate as to meet with Grey since. He was in London at the time, of course; but I am greatly remiss in paying my respects. Circumstances prevented my attendance at Mrs. Grey's funeral — and in short, he will think me an odd sort of friend, do I not pay a call of condolence very soon.”
None of us assembled at the table, I imagine, should have broached the subject of Mrs. Grey directly to the improver; and his raising it himself, in so careless a fashion, must give rise to wonder in more than one quarter. Neddie was taken aback, and even I was at a loss for words; but Lizzy's self-possession, as always, was equal to everything.
“You may have one source of consolation, Mr. Sothey,” she said, “in the felicity your sudden descent upon Eastwell Park brought to Lady Elizabeth. She was never more astonished, she told me, than when you assured her it was within your power to pay your longed-for visit. She was quite unable to account for the honour of seeing you, having considered you quite fixed at The Larches.”
This last required some reply. Some men might have coloured and looked confused, or hurried themselves into too-fulsome explanation; Mr. Sothey merely laughed. “Lady Elizabeth, I believe, is the most generous of my friends — for never have I appeared on her doorstep, a lost and masterless cur, that she has not received me into her household without the slightest demand for explanation!”