Love Among the Spices Read online

  “Miss Stuart is away from home, sir,” Madge informed him. “She’s gone into Esher to visit some friends. I’m sure she would be pleased to have her property returned.”

  “Of course,” said Adam. “Please give my regards to Miss Stuart when she returns.” He handed Madge the little book, tucking a small cardboard box into the pocket of his coat at the same moment–a gift which now had no purpose.

  “I will, sir.” The door closed again, with the only evidence of Mr. Nimbley having ever visited in the form of a card and the item left to Marianne’s possession.

  Chapter Ten

  Norland Park was a sprawling country estate of repute in the county of Surrey for its beauties and for the sizeable income of its master. Within its walls of stone and climbing English ivy dwelled a family of five, husband, wife and daughters three, and servants enough to satisfy any doubt that either fortune or manners were lacking among them. Mr. Fitzgerald Sotherby had stood for Parliament successfully and was already inhabiting his London townhouse, while his wife was only lately returned home from supporting one of her nieces during a particularly trying confinement.

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s daughter was Mrs. Sotherby: a handsome matron of forty whose countenance might be described as stern, her manner as foreboding, and her resolve as iron-clad. A good woman in the sense of knowing her duty and performing it whenever possible, she had resolved that her advice and assistance was necessary to all within her circle of acquaintance, much like her good mother.

  Upon reading Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s letter, she felt no objection whatsoever to the plan of receiving her cousin’s daughter into her home. Her plans of joining her husband in town were of no immediate importance to her, for she had but one daughter eligible for marriage this Season and only one bridal trousseau with which to concern herself, since there was no other young lady within her circle who necessitated her sage wisdom on these subjects.

  And so she was content to wait until the height of London’s glories to appear among the peers and gentry–and pleased at the prospect of being of use to “poor Lady Stuart’s“ child.

  Marianne arrived by post attended by a manservant on Wednesday, as planned. She was greeted by Mrs. Sotherby with a scrutinizing gaze and a wooden embrace. Her cousins surveyed her in a polite line behind their mother, from the plain, light-haired eldest to the wiry youngest Sotherby of but eleven.

  “It has been a great many years since I have since you, Miss Stuart,” said Mrs. Sotherby. “You have grown up a vast deal since then. A very handsome young woman–quite as pretty as your mother.” With this final verdict, she led the way to her guest’s chamber, a train of interested young ladies in tow.

  “Mrs. Fitzwilliam has asked me to chaperone you when we go into town in a few weeks and I should be happy to oblige,” she continued. “The first Season is the most trying for any young lady, I daresay. My eldest Charlotte felt quite nervous about the whole affair until she made a match with Mr. Humley by the end of it; and I hope the same for you.”

  As she spoke, she opened the door to a spacious guest chamber overlooking a fine view of Norland’s green lawns brushed with traces of melting snow. Marianne’s heart sank at the distance between herself and the woods located on the park, but a line of trees in the distance. No sign of anything remotely familiar to her tastes in this impeccable chamber of white and gold, its walls festooned with framed crayons drawn by the eldest Sotherby’s hand.

  “If you need anything, ring the bell for Nelly,” said Mrs. Sotherby. “Dinner shall be at seven, but we do not dress for it at home, so you needn‘t unpack your trunk for your good muslin.”

  “You are all kindness, Ma’am,” was all Marianne answered. Once alone in the chamber, she felt the oppression of its stark formality, its walls and counterpane without any trace of interest. With a sigh, she sank upon the nearest ottoman and gazed at the world outside.

  I am shocked at Miss Marianne’s lack of education and general disinterest in any proper subject, Mrs. Sotherby wrote her mother a few days later. Perhaps she is considered clever in London, but among us, she is a dull creature indeed on any matters which ought to interest her. I cannot find that she knows anything of embroidery or the pianoforte, nor does she sing; she has no knowledge of poetry except that which is the most vulgar–and her manner of drawing is not at all feminine.

  When I spoke to her on these matters, she expressed little concern on her deficiencies. I would declare her almost insolent. I shall not give up, however; I shall see Miss Marianne observe a sense of propriety so long as she is under my roof...

  Mrs. Sotherby’s letter on this subject was short, despite her propensity for long epistles, since Mr. Sotherby’s ‘frank’ was no longer at her disposal while he was in town. Her concern for Marianne was genuine, her mouth set in a line of grim determination that, despite her cousin’s worst habits, it was indeed possible to make a proper young lady of Marianne Stuart.

  Marianne, however, was given to resistance. Already the sparse white chamber upstairs had taken on a new tone, a gradual transition which suited its occupant’s character by the end of the week. First, a sketch of a dried moth she found in the corner of her closet; then sprigs of evergreen and clusters of nuts filled the windowsill as Marianne studied the leaf patterns and the bug-riddled cores of these treasures brought back from one of the wooded regions.

  “If you please, Ma’am, there’s a mouse in Miss Marianne’s room,” said the maid Nelly, whose face was pale as she curtseyed before her mistress.

  “Good heavens!” proclaimed Mrs. Sotherby. “Quick–send Nathan to the stable and bring one of Mr. Sotherby’s little dogs–send for gamekeeper Wilkies–”

  “If you please, Ma’am, it’s in a bucket already–with a bit of bread and wool–in the young lady’s wardrobe.” In response, Mrs. Sotherby’s pen fell from her fingers to the floor.

  A moment later, the good woman bustled up the stairs, skirts gathered to prevent a sudden offense by the little creature. Shortly thereafter, it was released onto the lawn and Mrs. Sotherby, armed with an empty bucket, faced her cousin in the library.

  “Miss Marianne!” she snapped. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Marianne looked up from her work, a little sketch of a dissected beetle copied from one of her host’s open books. “Whatever do you mean, Ma’am?” she asked

  “This–” Mrs. Sotherby indicated the bucket, “–the effort to harbor vermin in your room–”

  “You let it go?” A little cry escaped Marianne’s lips. “Oh, but where–”

  “Out of doors, where it belonged,” retorted Mrs. Sotherby, who was still endeavoring to catch her breath after such an indignant performance. “Of all the irrational, improper tricks–”

  “But it will freeze!”

  “Of that I have grave doubts, since I am certain it shall take up residence in Mr. Sotherby’s stables, eating the good grain for his horses!” said Mrs. Sotherby. “How dare you introduce such a creature under my roof? I will not tolerate it, Miss Marianne. There is to be no more of this nonsense, no more diversions which crawl or creep about. Am I quite clear?”

  “Quite, Ma’am,” Marianne replied meekly, for there was something in Mrs. Sotherby’s terrible aspect which she dare not argue at the moment. With a final warning glance, the good lady retreated from the room as suddenly as she had appeared.

  There was another incident, involving Miss Marianne having been caught high in the branches of a tree overhanging the stone boundary wall, attempting to retrieve a cluster of mistletoe from its topmost branches. This was reported breathlessly to Mrs. Sotherby by her middle daughter Julia, the two of them joining in the pursuit led by a prim and aging governess to the household.

  “Come down from there this instant!” the woman demanded in a frail voice. “Come down, I say –this is indeed most shocking! Most indecent!” Whether it was her fatigue or her shock which prevented her from speaking further was not known, although her half-collapsed figure was enough to induce Ma
rianne to hasten down from the branches.

  It is the beginning of a great trial, Ma’am, for I can see there is no natural modesty on the part of Miss Marianne. When I spoke to her of the dreadful fright she gave Miss Snood, she showed every sign of regret, yet was given still to sorrow that the sprig of greenery was left behind in the tree.

  There is improvement, I hope, for nothing of questionable nature has happened these last few days. I only hope that contrary Miss Marianne has become contrite over the thought of the grievance she causes with her manners... Mrs. Sotherby’s letter this time was lengthy, even without the desired “frank”, forcing her to cross her lines in her need to communicate these events.

  Miss Marianne was indeed quieter, without any incidents which aroused the timid shock of her cousins young and old. Her own pen was busy scribbling in the little nature journal which had escaped Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s notice in the midst of observing her niece’s packing.

  Though the beetle has such a thick shell, it is quite frail in the decay of death; when I peeled it apart, there was naught but dust within. His legs were quite intact, however, so I observed them with my aunt’s puzzle-glass. There are small hairs clinging to the shiny surface, to what purpose I cannot imagine except it be similar to the grasp of human fingers; the hinges which fold its legs are too small to observe with such a puny device ...

  Marianne’s occupation at the nearby table received an indulgent smile from her hostess, who no doubt believed she kept a diary akin to her own daughters’ little chronicle of daily thoughts and events of note. Had she seen the contents of Marianne’s volume, her smile would have been less tranquil.

  The bell rang; a manservant appeared from the main hall a moment later, bearing a card for the mistress of the house. Mrs. Sanford set aside her pen and took up her glasses to peruse its contents.

  “An invitation,” she declared, “from Mrs. Hendricks, who is hosting a card party on the seventeenth and wishes us to attend.”

  “A card party,” declared Julia, the newly-debuted Sotherby. “How lovely. May we have permission to go, Mama? Please?”

  “It would be an affront to Mrs. Hendricks to decline, since we have not attended her in these past few months,” said Mrs. Sotherby. “Of course you may go, although I shall not be with you, for Mariah’s littlest has taken ill again and I have promised to attend her when the physicians is present. ”

  “The invitation includes you as well, Miss Marianne,” said Mrs. Sotherby, glancing at her cousin. “It is thoughtful of Mrs. Hendricks, although I would have allowed you to accompany your cousins, since Mrs. Hendricks does not stand upon ceremony as a rule.”

  Marianne attempted to look pleased in response. “How kind of her to think of me,” she answered, dutifully. “I am honored by the invitation.” It was now her cousins’ turn to look pleased.

  There can be no fear of such an invitation, for Charlotte is as careful as anything now that she is engaged; and I would venture Marianne to be safe at the Hendricks’ party in her company. For there is no one so genteel as Mrs. Hendricks; and the Colonel is greatly esteemed in the neighborhood and careful that only the most suitable of his officers are ever at attendance with the local gentry. It will be but a small affair and an excellent opportunity for Julia as well–for you know that she has only a little society since she has newly come-out and has not had the opportunity to wear her new silk since its purchase.

  With love, Myrah.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mrs. Hendricks’ card party took place at the Granton Cottage, where the Colonel had taken residence during his regiment’s encampment. It was indeed a small affair in comparison to a London gathering of similar nature, held in a middling-size drawing room of dark atmosphere made only slightly more cheery by numerous candles ablaze.

  The lady of the house commanded the foremost table in a smart London gown, her manners proof she was a favorite with her husband’s officers despite the advance of years upon her person.

  Charlotte and Julia Sotherby were acquainted with several of the guests, the daughters of local gentry and the son of a clergyman whose living adjoined the neighborhood. As for the officers, there were more than a few present–and it was among their company that Marianne spied a face which made her own countenance crimson and pale in succession. Captain William Lindley stood by the mantelpiece, engaged in conversation with another young man in regimentals.

  “Come and join us, Miss Julia, for we are all light,” said Mrs. Hendricks, “and Mr. Mayvine declares that he has not a match among us.” The hostess’s declaration persuaded the middle Miss Sotherby to join their rubber; at the request of a Miss Churchill, Charlotte and Marianne found themselves seated with a Captain Dennick at an adjoining table.

  Cards bored Marianne as a general rule, unless there was a true spirit of competition; and so her eyes wandered from her hand to the guests conversing nearby. With a sense of determination, she willed herself to look away again. It would not do to speak to him; for what if Mrs. Fitzwilliam learned of this evening later on?

  She was aware of his eyes upon her as she laid her cards upon the table. Keeping her face deliberately turned the other direction, she feigned an interest in Mr. Mayvine’s dull anecdote about an escaped pig in the village; in her cousin Charlotte’s description of her Mr. Humley’s estate.

  Captain Lindley had wandered closer, his companion taking an evident interest in Mrs. Hendricks’s table. There was a lively exchange between the parties on a subject which Marianne did not quite catch–at this moment, Mr. Mayvine rose to attend to his mother’s desire for a chair of conveyance. A moment later, however, Mrs. Hendricks was seated across from her and Captain Lindley–whose companion now played opposite Miss Julia–was standing quite close as an observer of Marianne’s party.

  “Isn’t this cozy?” declared Mrs. Hendricks. “There is ever so much more light at this table, I feel–Captain Tannis was so kind as to point that out, knowing how weak my eyes grow in poor light. Well! I feel quite invigorated by this change. Miss Charlotte,” she continued, directing her gaze at the eldest Sotherby daughter, “will you turn the cards? Or is it Dennick’s place? How much better the light is here; how kind of Tannis to notice!”

  “I believe Tannis had other motives in suggesting this change of seating, Ma’am.” Lindley spoke quite close to Marianne, where he stood with hands clasped behind him, casually. “By doing so, he might aid his esteemed hostess; but he gains a pretty partner yonder in the bargain, does he not?”

  “Oh, Captain Lindley,” laughed Mrs. Hendricks, “you must not couple a gentleman and a young lady in conversation, for you shall only upset the matches being made elsewhere on their behalf. Now, is it diamonds, Captain Dennick? I am at a loss already, I confess.”

  Marianne played on, silently, although she was conscious of Lindley close behind her as her lively hostess pleaded her ignorance.

  “Are you ever the devotee to nature, Miss Stuart?” he asked. His voice was low, scarcely above his breath as if not to attract any notice save hers. Her gaze flickered to his own, then darted away again.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered, after a moment. To her right, Charlotte placed her card forward.

  “Hearts? Do hearts carry it, Captain Dennick? I am not certain,” Mrs. Hendricks ventured in response.

  “I have been surprised, then, to never see you about in the neighborhood; nor in the wooded walk which passes through Norland’s park. I often stroll about such places and never see a soul above myself,” he continued, quietly.

  Marianne placed her card upon the table, offering her hostess a smile as the woman protested that she could not see her way to carrying this hand at all. Beside her, Captain Lindley stirred.

  “Are you not about then, Miss Stuart?” he asked. “Are you much engaged elsewhere–with others?”

  The nature of his question was unmistakable, even in its soft tones. Marianne could scarce refrain from glancing at him fully, a sense of apprehension and strange anticipation buildin
g within her which she mastered only with great effort.

  Without turning towards him, she answered. “My attention is not engaged to any particular subject; and I have no places of scenery recommended to me by my friends.”

  “I believe you have mistaken your cards, sir,” ventured Charlotte to Captain Dennick, who was in the act of changing his hand’s contents. “For it does not seem quite–oh, yes, I see it now. I was not attentive for a moment.”

  Captain Lindley bent lower, as if examining the cards at play. “There is a place worth seeing but a mile’s walk from Norland Park,” he said. “I have seen it once or twice; and would venture to say that one such as you, Miss Stuart, would admire it greatly.”

  “Where, sir?” she asked, although her eyes were fixed upon her cards. Her cousin Charlotte drew a card in the temporary silence of their hostess’s tongue.

  “I cannot describe the way,” he answered. “But if you would venture to walk upon the road to town tomorrow, I will show you. If you like.”

  Marianne drew a fluttering breath at this suggestion. “I do not know,” she answered. “If it is proper to accept.” She ventured to glance at him with these words, as if seeking his judgment on the matter.

  “Spades, Miss Sotherby,” declared Captain Dennick, laughing. “It is spades.”

  Captain Lindley’s voice dropped lower. “I trust that you would never do anything which was not proper, Miss Marianne,” he said. “If you cannot accept, then I will understand perfectly.”

  He withdrew politely, moving closer to Captain Dennick as if to observe his fellow officer’s endeavors. His eye traveled from the cards to Marianne’s gaze, although she turned away after a moment as Mrs. Hendricks’s remarks bubbled forth.

  “Come, come, this is a fine hand of cards! We are all light, are we not, Captain Dennick?”

  *****