An Inconvenient Engagement Page 3

  “Who do you think makes Miss Denham’s gowns?” Penelope asked as they were heading down the stairs.

  “Miss Denham.”

  “What! All of them?”

  “She has no choice. I imagine she can afford better fabric and trims with the money she saves from sewing them herself.”

  Penelope was impressed. “I could never sew a whole dress…”

  “You, my dear, do not have to. And, I imagine with the time you have saved in sewing you can play the piano much better than she.”

  “I do love to practice…”

  “Exactly, and I love to draw. We all have our talents. It is just that she does not have so much flexibility of choice with hers.” She took the wrapped gowns from her maid and indicated her readiness to leave. Penelope grinned and followed.

  The gig was little more than a very elegant pony trap at Henrietta’s command. Once they were both seated and she had control of the reins, the man let the roan pony loose and Henrietta steered him down the long approach.

  Penelope always enjoyed these outings in the gig. Henrietta was a skilled driver, and the dappled and flaxen-maned pony, Marches, was reliable and easygoing. Henrietta had fitted out the little gig with extra rugs and cushions so that the agitations of the road were much softened. There was usually a tin of biscuits for nibbling if one became hungry. For now, though, she was content to watch the trees and cottages roll by as they rode on, waving now and then to neighbors who happened to be out.

  They came to the main road and turned toward the village. They steered past the banked lane that curved around Little Cottage and drove through the village to pull up in front of Dimmits. Penelope climbed down, and waved Henrietta off.

  Henrietta drove to the end of town where the road widened allowing her to turn around. Heading back through the town and on around the curve to Little Cottage, the gig crunched to a stop on the rough gravel outside Little House. Henrietta marched serenely to the door and waited for a response. When it opened, Eliza was standing there, settling the apron she had just removed from over her arm.

  Her eyes widened at sight of her guest. “Good afternoon, Miss Darrow, do come in.” She stumbled over the greeting while backing to allow her room. She led the way to the tiny front parlor and motioned for her to sit. Her hands strayed to her skirt, still damp from washing yarn and she was fairly sure there was a smattering of flour across her nose from kneading the scones. She made to brush it off, unwittingly depositing even more.

  Henrietta sat on the settee, and Eliza held her breath, hoping that the fickle leg would hold this time. She sat in her uncle’s chair and turned her attention toward her guest. “Can I get you some tea?”

  “Tea would be lovely.” Henrietta shifted her position and the settee rocked alarmingly. Eliza leaned forward to catch Henrietta’s outstretched hand. She righted her and the girl laughed. Eliza joined her, and the tension was suddenly gone. Henrietta sat instead on the other chair nearest the fireplace. Eliza disappeared into the kitchen to ask Bessie to make some tea, then returned and rejoined Henrietta.

  A small twinge of envy clutched at her heart. Henrietta’s pelisse was a deep periwinkle blue that perfectly matched her eyes. Her day dress was white with the tiniest blue flowers. And that bonnet! Darkest blue velvet with white and periwinkle ribbons and flowers. And here she sat in her old, taupe, dropfront dress with red flowers and flour smeared all over.

  Henrietta was thinking how odd it was that some women could somehow look attractive in damp skirts and flour dusting their face.

  A whistle escaped the kitchen and Eliza said, “Excuse me. I think the tea may be ready.” She shot up and into the kitchen where Bessie was laying the last teacup on the tray set with the tea pot and a plate of the hot scones that Eliza had made.

  They spent the next few minutes engaged in small talk as the tea was poured and the scones buttered. “Did you make these? They are absolutely perfect! Our cook does not have the knack for scones.”

  Eliza smiled. “Why thank you - at least I learned something at school!”

  “I think I would have loved to go to school,” said Henrietta with a sigh.

  “You had a governess?” said Eliza looking up.

  “Yes, but she was a little too soft for me. I would have liked her better if she had stood up to me now and then!”

  Eliza chuckled. “That is not a common complaint. Most people would love a governess they could walk over.” She sighed a little, school seemed so long ago!

  A small silence fell, and Henrietta seemed to be considering. She finally cleared her throat a little and began, “Miss Denham, I wanted to bring you news of a ball we will have Tuesday next.”

  Horror shot through Eliza, and her eyes widened. “Oh, oh I see. How very pleasant.” Oh no…she had not had time to make up her new gown. What would she wear? Not the rose gown again - full of repairs and no way to hide them anymore. How could she demur? Perhaps she could feign illness on the day of the ball….

  Henrietta continued, “Well, it is, rather! And I would so like you to be one of the party. Do say you will.”

  “I will be very happy to attend.” She said with anything but happiness.

  A brief silence fell, and then Henrietta cleared her throat. “Yes, I am so glad. However…there is no way to say this but bluntly. My Father will expect you to be there, I would like you to be there, and yet your uncle is without the resources for you to be dressed as you would want to be. As skilled as you are, one week is not adequate time to make a dress. Am I right? Have I erred?”

  Eliza sighed, and smiled grimly. “You are correct. However, I…” She stopped as Henrietta raised a hand. She delicately nibbled her scone and then wiped her mouth with the napkin.

  “Please, however little I may presume upon the connexion, we are by way of being family. I have three gowns that are no longer favorites. I do not offer them as new, or fashionable. However, I believe that someone quite clever with a needle could make one very nice gown from the three. I also believe that you are quite clever with a needle.” She smiled. “and are gracious enough to accept them in the same spirit with which they are offered.”

  Eliza sat in silence for a moment. Three gowns! Ready made! Such a gift! She was so relieved that she forgot to be offended and so charmed that she decided she should not. “I would be happy to make the attempt,” she said and smiled back.

  “Excellent!” Henrietta handed over the parcel and stood. “I would appreciate it if you did not say a word to anyone about this. I am afraid my intentions might be misconstrued as offensive. Though I am sure you will not see them as such?” Eliza smiled in response and Henrietta added, “And, Eliza, these scones are truly excellent. You have quite the touch.”

  “How did you know I made them?”

  Henrietta smiled and touched the side of her nose. Eliza instantly wiped at the spot with a rueful expression.

  Eliza bit back a smile, “I will certainly say nothing to anyone.”

  With that, Henrietta shook hands and said,

  “Thank you so much for the tea.” And then she was gone.

  Eliza watched her drive off towards the village and then returned to see if Cook needed any further help. Once released, she tripped quickly upstairs to open the precious parcel.

  One by one, the gowns were lifted free. The first was white, with a crossover neckline and overdress of spotted muslin and tiny satin roses edging the neckline and the sleeves. The next was a royal blue silk with intricate puffed sleeves matching the braid around the squared neckline. The last was a pale green silk with the sheerest organza overdress. The neckline was also squared with sleeves in a complicated Van Dyke pattern. There was a rather gaudy braid that edged the neckline and the skirt, which she thought was begging to be removed. All of them were too long and would be a little tight through the bodice. But, perhaps by letting out some of the seams that would show least, she could expand the bodice just enough and then hem the skirts for her shorter frame.

  Su
ch riches! And such little time, she recalled in dismay. But remove the heavy braid from the green dress, and transplant the tiny roses from the white one, and perhaps…yes. It could be easily done in time, which sewing a whole dress could not. She was desperate to avoid wearing her old rose gown. She carefully wrapped up the blue gown – wondering if she should return it or if it, too, should be considered a gift. Then she fetched her workbag. She would need her tiny scissors to cut the stitches and free the braid. After looking all over for the scissors she realized they must have been lost in the packing and travel. They were nowhere to be found in her workbag.

  Oh bother! She thought. I shall have to walk into town and get another pair. She had a little money left from her last purchase, and she could but hope it would be enough. Then, she thought she could pick up a small roast and some buns to fix for supper the next time Mrs. Jones was off. She quickly changed and went downstairs.

  Eliza pulled on her gloves and drew her shawl around her shoulders. She snatched up a basket and set off for Dimmits. The day was sunny, but cool. A gentle breeze lightly buffeted her skirt but could not penetrate her bonnet. She wore her favorite afternoon dress of peach cotton sprigged with black. It had short sleeves, and she had pulled her lightest shawl around her.

  Dimmits was halfway through the village. She was greeted by both father and son as she entered and went straight to where the thread was kept. The choice was simple, but she lingered over it - so many different colors and thicknesses. The bell on the door dinged again, and she turned to see two gentlemen enter the store. Both Dimmits were suddenly all attention and she observed the scene from the shelter of her bonnet.

  The men looked around. She recognized Sir William as the taller gentleman. The other seemed to be secretly smiling at the world and was much more at ease within it. Sir William spoke, “Good afternoon, I am in need of an umbrella.”

  The elder Dimmits replied, “But it is a sunny day!”

  “Yes, but I would rather not wait until it is raining.”

  The younger Dimmits quickly retrieved two umbrellas and presented them. Sir William assayed them both and made his choice. Eliza carried her chosen thread and a tiny pair of scissors to the counter and stood, expecting to be ignored until the transaction was complete. However, Sir William stepped back and said, “Oh, excuse me,” then his gaze sharpened as he said, “Miss Denham!”

  She glanced up to find his eyes fixed upon her, and she smiled. He looked oddly puzzled, and Mr. Dimmit, Sr. recalled her attention.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Oh, no Sir.” She had to count out her shillings and pence to make sure she had enough. She bit her lip in embarrassment as the transaction made. She had no reason to stay once the small package was placed in her hands but yet was reluctant to go. She glanced back up at Sir William and found his eyes still upon her. She wondered if there might be a bug or something on her bonnet or dirt on the back of her dress, but there was no way to brush discreetly at either under his intense regard.

  Luckily, Mr. Dimmits recalled his attention and she was able to hurriedly brush the back of her skirt and glanced at her reflection in the glass to see if anything was caught on her bonnet. There was not, and she had no reason to linger. But as she turned to open the door, she was met by a woman in her forties with a jutting bust and furiously curled hair beneath her lacy cap. “Mrs. Welles!” Eliza said in dismayed surprise.

  “Miss Eliza, how fortunate as I was on my way to call. Dimmits!” Both men looked up and she said sternly, “I shall return to discuss that bolt of cloth I purchased last week. I think you will agree that it was not up to standard.” She turned sharply on her heel and fell into step with Eliza, who had turned toward the butcher.

  Dr. Welles was the son of a doctor, and after succeeding in his degree he had the felicity to marry Miss Adelaide Smith, a woman with a very modest fortune and robust opinions. They had no children, and Mrs. Welles, being an active sort of person, chose to direct her energy anywhere her gaze landed. She was feared among the lower classes and avoided by everyone else. As they stood at the counter in the butcher’s, she supervised Eliza asking for a small roast and interrupted the butcher’s son.

  “Oh no, my dear, look at the gristle in that cut. Here, boy, cut that off for Miss Denham, no reason she should pay for that extra bit. There, saved you tuppence. Where is Mr. Bindle? I had hoped to have a word with him about the lamb I got from him Monday last. Tough - mutton by the smell of it. What do you mean he is out? Well, tell him I called. Oh, you are finished, Miss Denham? Then by all means let us continue. The baker’s next?”

  Eliza had no choice but to complete her shopping with Mrs. Welles in tow. The two gentlemen rode by, apparently done with their errand. Once again, she caught Sir William’s eye before she was ushered into the bakery by Mrs. Welles.

  The well-rounded lady at the counter smiled fearfully as they entered, “Ah, Mrs. Cutchins,” began Mrs. Welles, “I need some buns. No, no, not from the edge as last time. They were terribly stale. From the center if you don’t mind. What was that Miss Eliza? Oh! Miss Denham needs some buns as well. And a loaf of crusty bread. What? Is Mrs. Beams no longer baking for you? Ah, laundry day, of course.” She drew breath and turned to accept her buns, “Thank you. What my dear - ah you are done? Let me walk you home, then.”

  “The new baronet is in town with his younger brother. You saw them just then in Dimmits. Oh, if you don’t mind, I want to stop in and discuss something with Dimmit, Sr.” Eliza lingered near the door as Mrs. Welles all-but flung the door open.

  “Dimmits, have a look at this.” She held out a scrap of fabric. “This was smack in the middle of that bolt and I found it as I was cutting out a dress. Can you see this?” Mr. Dimmit peered at the scrap and then balanced his small wire glasses on his nose. “Obviously, the block became uncentered and the print is slightly askew. Luckily this particular piece fell at the edge of one of the skirt panels, but I have had to be particularly careful in how I lay out the other pieces as a result. I really think you need to contact the suppliers and check your remaining bolts for imperfections. I should think you would adjust your prices as a result. Well, yes, I would be happy to accept a discount on my next purchase. It is very good of you to offer. I will forego my shopping as I am accompanying Miss Denham just now. Good day!”

  She let the door close soundly behind her and stepped firmly along the sidewalk, Eliza hurrying in her wake. “As I was saying, the baronet is home again. I had thought he might sell the place after his father died, but he seems to be taking it into hand. I might need to have a word with him about Elspeth Thornton. Her lungs are still weak, and she refuses to move closer to town. Dr. Welles has been out to see her, but there is only so much he can do. She needs help, but I fear there is some neglect on the part of the Oglebys. I don’t think they are as neighborly to her as they could be, but then with all those children I suppose they do not have the time. Even so, they are in need of supervision, or they will rob Sir William blind without his even knowing, just scraping a bit here and there. If he does not care to curb them, then perhaps his fiancée will attend to it once she arrives. Surely she will want to watch the farm tithes.” She stopped to curb a young child who was howling despite his mother’s frantic entreaties. The child stopped.

  She nodded, satisfied and continued. “Miss Maria Lockley is the fiancée, and she should be arriving soon, though she has put off the day once or twice already, and they have yet to set a date.”

  They were nearing Little Cottage now and she strode purposefully along the road with Eliza in tow. “Not sure what she is doing dilly-dallying about. In my opinion the shorter the engagement, the better.” Eliza, however, felt a little warmth at the thought that the marriage was not yet set in stone.

  Mrs. Welles did not require much in the way of answers from Eliza as they entered Little Cottage. Eliza saw Bessie duck out the back as they entered. “Had to call, dear, saw you were home again. Is that your new sp
inning wheel? Your uncle read me your letter, and I told him I hoped it would be adequate for wool spinning, but you may have a flax wheel and it may not work well for wool.”

  “Actually, it spins beautifully.”

  “Glad to hear you have made it work. Now, that settee has a bad leg, and you really ought to have it repaired. Mrs. Cutchen’s son Sam is quite handy – I will send him round when I see her next. Do not let him charge you too much. Mind you, he will probably come at lunchtime thinking to get a free meal, but you can easily put him off. How is Mrs. Beams doing these days? I saw her the other day, but she did not hear me call.”

  Mrs. Welles took a sip of the tea that Cook had brought in, and then another deep breath, “Sir William Strathom – it was he who was buying the umbrella at Dimmits. The elder Strathom has certainly continued his father’s improvements at Tredwell. The yard has been opened up and graveled more extensively.” She took a sip of tea. “He really ought to edge the yard, though, or the gravel will be lost to the gardens in time. Not that Tredwell is known for its gardens, but it does have a rather nice park and a ha-ha. I know that the Loughtons had a similar issue with their service yard, and the gravel has slowly disappeared into the fields surrounding the yard.”

  Another sip. “The Bucket and Bull is in desperate need of a new cook – have you heard? Emily Watkins up and left for a post in a Stanton pub. All because they claimed to have indoor water in the kitchen, and she said she was tired of carrying bucketfuls from the pump. I think it more likely she was wanting away from Bill Gatlin’s attentions. They’ve been walking out years now and still no wedding. She’s just ready for a new start.”

  One final sip, and Eliza held her breath hoping that Mrs. Welles was done with tea. She glanced at her empty cup, then at the teapot, then set the cup down on the saucer and glanced at the time on her chatelaine’s watch. “Ah well. Must be going! So lovely to see you again after all this time.” Quick smile and handshake, and Adelaide Welles was gone.