Miss Price's Decision Page 10

  “I do remember her. A very refined girl with lovely red hair, and remarkably good-looking, too. What was Miss Bingley wearing?”

  “Her gown was in a pale blue satin with sleeves of the finest lace. It was very similar to this one.” I fetched the issue of La Belle Assemblée we had brought from London, which was on the dressing table.

  “Indeed. It has just the kind of sleeve Maria would like.”

  Lady Bertram checked herself on mentioning the name of her eldest daughter, but I sensed she was not undisposed to talk about Maria. As for me, I was too intrigued and eager to hear more about my mysterious cousin to do as I should and pretend I had not heard her.

  “Do you have news from Northumberland?” I whispered.

  She looked away and did not answer for two long minutes. When she did, her thin voice was barely audible.

  “My sister writes often, but all letters are addressed to Sir Thomas. On rare occasions, he reads excerpts to me, but he keeps to himself a lot more than he shares. He does not want me to worry about Maria, you see. On the other hand, Julia told me quite a bit about her sister while we were in London. Sir Thomas is not aware of their correspondence, of course.”

  “I am sure that my aunt and my cousin are comfortably settled. My uncle’s liberality will make sure of it.”

  Lady Bertram’s features stiffened.

  “I pray for them, but I also know that Maria must be so very miserable. She was never one for quiet pursuits.” Lady Bertram quietly brought a lace kerchief to her eyes, where tiny tears had appeared. “My heart rather breaks at the thought of her locked up in a dark old cottage in the middle of nowhere and with no friends other than my sister.”

  I came to my senses and felt ashamed for bringing up a subject that was bound to make Lady Bertram feel wretched.

  “I did not wish to unsettle you. I beg your pardon. I shall not mention my cousin again.”

  “It may be best, dearest,” said she, stroking her pug. “Fetch me the laudanum, I wish to rest now.”

  I handed my aunt the dainty bottle and watch her take the medicine.

  “Remember we are invited to dine with Mr and Mrs Allen tonight.”

  “Oh, yes. Will you write to them and tell them that I am indisposed?”

  I felt the ground open beneath my feet.

  “Are you sure, Aunt?” I exclaimed. “You may feel better later.”

  “Quite sure,” said Lady Bertram with a big yawn, and she closed her wet eyes.

  When her breathing became regular, I quietly exited the room, closing the heavy door silently behind me. I was shaking. I would not see Jamie again, after all, and it was my fault. My words had agitated Lady Bertram and made her even more unwell. I felt a cold sweat on my forehead. I deserved to suffer for having saddened my aunt.

  With much sorrow and a shaking hand, I dispatched a quick letter to Mr and Mrs Allen informing them that we would not be able to follow through on their invitation. The reply from Pulteney Street came half an hour later: Mrs Allen deeply regretted that they would not have the pleasure of our company that evening, but wondered if it would be acceptable for me to join her and Miss Morland for a stroll around town in the afternoon. Mrs Allen anticipated any objections by saying they would come for a short visit beforehand. It was a valiant effort, but I did not think Lady Bertram would allow me to leave her side this time.

  I sighed. At least I had recovered my sketching materials, although for once I trusted little in their power to distract me from unpleasant matters.

  As promised, Mrs Allen and Miss Morland stopped at Camden Place that afternoon. Lady Bertram was in her bedchamber, but Mrs Allen, never one to be mollified by illness, again went upstairs to speak to her friend. I remained in the parlour with Harriet, dreading the conversation that was to follow. I did not think myself equal to hearing my friend express her delight at seeing Jamie again that same night while keeping my composure.

  Harriet only had the chance to talk about the weather and how much it had improved since the previous night when a grouchy Murphy came in with the tea-things. The maid remained in the room for longer than strictly necessary, and I conveniently did not think of dismissing her, in spite of Harriet’s wordless pleas in my direction. Murphy was still with us when Mrs Allen returned with the happy news that I was allowed to join them for a stroll.

  “Lady Bertram realises that it would be cruel to have you locked up in the house all day. Moreover, I convinced her that our outing will not just be for pleasure. The other day she was telling me that she wanted new gowns made, and I know just the place to buy the fabric. We will bring her some samples, so she can choose at leisure when she has rested.”

  “So you do not think that Lady Bertram is gravely ill,” I said with relief.

  “Of course not. Her old dog, however, is a different story. I would be surprised if it makes to next week. I have never been overly fond of dogs, but my father always had pointers and I know a sick animal when I see it. You had better prepare your aunt. She appears uncommonly attached to it. Now, let us not make Smith wait.”

  We boarded the Allen’s carriage and headed into town. We stopped at half a dozen shops, including one where Mrs Allen asked the poor owner as many questions on the provenance, quality and likelihood to shrink of different types of material, only to leave with a scant number of fabric samples. At first I was afraid I would run into Mr Cole, but I quickly realised that it was very unlikely for that to take place in the kind of establishments we were visiting, and I began to enjoy the outing.

  It was still early, so Harriet had the happy idea to go up to the Circus. The coachman stopped and we descended with the intention of taking a short stroll. It was a beautiful day, and the crescent of grand, honey-coloured houses stood like a disciplined army overlooking the lush green hills around Bath. There was the slightest of breezes, and all around us I could smell the fragrance of lavender and honeysuckle.

  “It is such a magnificent setting, is it not? Every year I ask Mr Allen if we are yet able to afford one of the houses in this part of town, and his reply is always the same: ‘I’m afraid this year it will be Pulteney Street again, my dear.’ We laugh so, Miss Price.” Mrs Allen’s lips drew a contented smile. “I was very lucky in my choice of husband, and I hope you girls will be, too.”

  “Oh, Mrs Allen, but true love is not a choice! It presents itself and one cannot do anything about it.”

  “Now, Harriet, there is no need to have such silly ideas. I cannot believe you are more of a fantasist than your sister Caroline! I never expected your imagination to surpass hers, but I am beginning to realise that there is no such thing as sensible thought in the minds of today’s young ladies.”

  “I am sure Miss Morland speaks from the heart, Mrs Allen.”

  “Her heart is very deep, judging from the number of gentlemen who have been able to accommodate themselves in it over the last few months. What was the name of the red-haired fellow again? He rather commanded your affections for a while, and the poor lad didn’t even know it.”

  “I do not care for Mr Bingley anymore,” said Harriet through gritted teeth.

  “So much the better, because someone yesterday told me that he is as well as engaged to a young woman from a small town in Hertfordshire, near where he is renting.” Mrs Allen’s tone became conspiratorial. “It appears that she is beautiful, but has little to her name. She is the eldest of five daughters, and her father’s estate is entailed to a cousin. I will be very surprised if he marries her. It would be a most imprudent match on his side.”

  We were walking down a country lane now, and Harriet’s gaze was fixed in the distance. It was clear from her demeanour that she did not wish to speak about Mr Bingley. Mrs Allen, however, was in a very talkative mood.

  “Never mind, Harriet, there are plenty of fish in the sea, such as the delightful Mr Gartner. He is quite a catch, is he not, Miss Price?”

  “He is very handsome, and such a good dancer!” sighed Harriet.

  “I
believe he was taught by a Mrs Robinson, the wife of the man who took him under his wing,” I said.

  “Are you referring to Mrs Robinson of Drury Lane?” asked Mrs Allen, grabbing my arm. “She lost her husband just over a year ago. He owned several merchant ships and was a very wealthy man.”

  “I cannot say,” I replied. “Perhaps. It sounds like her.”

  “In that case, Harriet, you may have a mighty rival. Mrs Robinson is young, rich and beautiful, and runs one of the most fashionable saloons in London. It would not surprise me at all if she had her sights set on Mr Gartner as a possible second husband, now that she has achieved financial independence.”

  “That cannot possibly be true!” exclaimed Harriet. “He danced with me twice last night!”

  “He is a very eligible young man, he liked you and you could well secure his affections, but you need to curb your passions, dearest. Slow and steady does it when it comes to matters of the heart. I heard once of a young woman in the care of a friend whose broken heart almost drove her to her death. True love need not be violent.”

  “I must agree with you, Mrs Allen. The love of the couples I most admire is calm and steady.”

  “Indeed. And do not worry, girls, I am sure you will both find good husbands. You have a reasonable enough settlement, Harriet. And, as for Miss Price, her connections are sure to impress many a suitor. I am convinced that her uncle will help out when she marries.”

  I had my doubts, given my uncle’s problems with the Antigua estate, which after a good spell was once again making poor returns, but thought it more prudent not to elaborate on the matter. In any case, I wished to make it clear that it was not my intention.

  “I am afraid I am not considering marriage at the moment, Mrs Allen. My aunt could not possibly spare me.”

  Mrs Allen laughed out loud.

  “Thinking yourself indispensable will not do, Miss Price! Lady Bertram will have plenty of other companions to choose from. Did you not replace an older sister when she married? Do you not have a younger sister that could replace you?”

  I thought of spoilt, vicious little Betsy, who was now ten, so around Fanny’s age when she left Portsmouth for Mansfield Park. I shook my head.

  “I am afraid that my sister would not be up to the task. Her nature is very different from the disposition my aunt requires of her companions.”

  “Which is a polite way to say that she is trouble,” sighed Mrs Allen. “Miss Frances always had a disorderly disposition. Somehow it does not surprise me that one of her girls should be particularly worrisome, although we know that she is not the only Ward sister to have that problem.”

  I thought it wisest to ignore her veiled reference to my cousin Maria.

  “Do not misunderstand me, Miss Price,” continued Mrs Allen. “I care much for her ladyship, but you need to consider your future ahead of everything else. As I see it, marriage is your only option.”

  I was beginning to voice my objection at that thought once again when Harriet intervened.

  “Mrs Allen is right. If you do not marry and choose to remain with your uncle and aunt, there will surely be a day when you not only just lose them and their regard, but also everything else you hold dear, beginning with your home.”

  I looked at her in disbelief.

  “You will not be able to stay at Mansfield Park once your cousin inherits the estate,” she explained. “A spinster cousin will be of no use to him. I suppose you will have to return with your parents in Portsmouth.”

  I shuddered, for this was no silly servant speaking, and looked up. The glorious blue sky was marred by a block of ominous clouds arriving from the west.

  “Perhaps we should return. It looks like rain is on the way.”

  “A very sensible suggestion,” said Mrs Allen. “We have much left to organise for tonight, do we not, Harriet? You must look your best if you are to attract the attention of a certain gentleman.”

  Harriet smiled coquettishly and I felt my throat tighten. I should have told Harriet about Jamie when I had the chance. As things stood, I had no right to spoil her anticipation by mentioning past feelings that no longer mattered.

  “It is such a pity that you will not be able to join us, Miss Price,” said Harriet, smiling. “I will make sure to tell Mr Gartner that you send your regards.”

  “That would be very kind.”

  “He is such an agreeable young man. Mr Allen only invited him on account to his being an old family friend of yours, Miss Price. My husband is ever so thoughtful.”

  “He is, indeed,” I muttered.

  On stepping into the entrance hall at the Camden Place house, with the neat parcel of fabric samples under my arm, I knew something was amiss. There were rushed steps from the servants above, and from the staircase came a howling that froze the blood in my veins. For a moment I was back in my parents’ dark Portsmouth house on the day Mary died, when I woke up to find my mother wailing and clutching my sister’s lifeless body. Breathless, I ran up the stairs and found Lady Bertram standing in the middle of her bedchamber, embracing the lifeless little body of her beloved pet dog.

  “It is dead! My baby is dead!”

  I put my arms around her shoulders and gently but firmly commanded her back to bed. Her wailing turned to sobbing. I took her hand and patted it.

  “If it is of any consolation, dear Aunt, I am convinced that pug suffered little, and passed in the most perfect of circumstances: gently sleeping at your feet.”

  “Your words are kind, Susan.”

  “Pug had a lovely, long life by your side,” I said, and I meant it with my heart. Many would have envied the little dog’s existence, full of the finest morsels of chicken and ribbon-adorned baskets with soft silk cushions.

  “I only wish I had kept a puppy from pug’s last litter, but I cannot imagine my baby could ever be fully replaced.”

  “Shall I call Doctor Stuart?”

  “Not him. I only need my medicine, or I think I shall die of a broken heart,” said Lady Bertram, pointing towards the small bottle of laudanum resting on her dressing table.

  With some reluctance, I administered the tincture. When my uncle returned from lunch with an old friend, I explained to him what happened. His brow creased and he did not say anything, but I saw the disappointment in his eyes. I clutched my hands together. Once again, I had been away when my aunt needed me, and the gnawing feeling inside of me grew even more.

  Chapter 11

  As I had feared, my aunt fell in a deep melancholy state over the following days. The little dog’s death, which would have been deemed inconsequential for others, had a profound effect on Lady Bertram’s spirits. Secretly, I also blamed my ill-judged words about my cousin Maria, uttered on the same morning of pug’s demise, for my aunt’s sadness. The fact that I had not been at the house to console her when it happened turned the sense of guilt into a very heavy burden. It did not help that, when Monday arrived, I knew for a fact that Jamie had left Bath, and so I could no longer cling to the ill-judged fantasies I had entertained since the missed dinner at the Allens. Such daydreams mostly involved his sudden appearance in order to deliver promises of eternal love, something Jamie’s good manners would have never entertained, and that, had they happened, would have offended my uncle’s sense of propriety.

  Sir Thomas demonstrated once more that he was the most devoted of husbands and he came to his wife’s side whenever she requested it. He dismissed Doctor Stuart on account of Lady Bertram never taking to him, and replaced with a Doctor Miller, an energetic little man of about thirty with premature grey hair. Doctor Miller had treated several patients with the burnt sea sponge tincture, to which he referred to as the Coventry remedy, and appeared convinced that the cure would begin to show its efficacy in the coming weeks. He also found my aunt to be in low spirits but did not express any concerns about her health, other than remarking that the passage of time was often the best healer. Finally, he recommended that the laudanum bottle be removed for the time bein
g in order to prevent any interference with the ongoing treatment, and promised to correspond with Monsieur Levain to inform him on the progress of the patient.

  Lady Bertram was inconsolable for a week. Her trust in Sir Thomas’ judgement did not waver, however, not when her husband suggested that burying the corpse of the little dog might be a better idea than embalming it, as had been her preferred course of action. Ten days after the sad event, my uncle brought home a toy spaniel puppy. It was a lively little thing, and its nature was so different from my aunt’s indolent, sleepy pet dog that Lady Bertram found it acceptable to play with it, then cuddle it, then allow it to sleep in pug’s old basket without ever considering that she was replacing like for like.

  My aunt, who had never been too fond of company, decided that most social interactions were too excitable for her puppy. As a result, she declined the few invitations that still arrived at Camden Place, and avoided all morning calls. Instead, she began to take short walks with Sir Thomas or me, for the puppy required more exercise than the old pug. Lady Bertram still drank the curative waters, which Sir Thomas had brought to the house without fail every single day, but in every other aspect, our social life was as paltry as it had been in Mansfield Park.

  Although my uncle gave me permission to see my friends, I refused to leave my aunt’s side and declined many an invitation from the Allens to join them for dinner or the theatre or one of the many balls in town. It was partly out of respect for my aunt’s mourning, partly because of the guilt that I was carrying: I sincerely believed that, had I been with Lady Bertram, she would not have found herself alone with the body of her little companion, and the dog’s passing would not have affected her so very much. At times I found our self-imposed exile difficult, but, with Jamie gone from Bath, Mr Cole still in the city and Harriet half in love with the former, I had few reasons to be out in society.