Master of Gothic House 6

 

Chapter 6

 

The young farmer, Jeb Curtis, veered towards Ram Gopal and aimed an upper cut at him. Edwin swiftly blocked the blow, to Ram Gopal’s irritation.

“Whatever your quarrel with me, sir, do not take it out on my servant,” said Edwin, dangerously.

Jeb’s mouth fell open like a hayseed, and he hastily shut it.

“Well, you look like a gentleman, I suppose,” he said.  Edwin had succumbed to his aunt’s dictat that he should not play-act for the interviews.

“As an Annesley of Essex, I should think anyone would know I am a gentleman,” he said, coolly. “My mother was an Indian princess; but you will not find me extraordinarily different in upbringing to any English gentleman.”

“You ain’t that much darker nor what I am from being out in the weather,” conceded Jeb.

“Would it affect my soul if I were?”

“Well... no, I suppose not. But what for are you taking Esther – Miss Mortimer – away from me? I thought she was settled to wed me.”

“I’m not ‘taking away’ any of the young women who answered my advertisement; if you have a betrothal she agreed to, I’ll not help anyone to breach promise.”

Jeb flushed.

“Well... it was an informal understanding.”

“In that case, I’ll still see her. I might even invite her to the Christmas party, because I want her side of it as well; she wrote to me... excuse me, I have the letter here... ‘. My family are keen to betroth me to a yeoman farmer, who is a fine enough fellow, but I want more out of life than feeding hens and milking cows. I would not object if visiting India was indicated.’ I suspect there’s a degree of wanting to see if the grass is greener on the other side of the fence before accepting your suit,” said Edwin.

Jeb had winced.

“A fine enough fellow!  Why, as warm as curdled milk! She doesn’t even hate me!”

“No; but then, she doesn’t dislike you. Cheer up! Why don’t you join us? I’m planning to strand the ladies in a neglected house I just inherited in Aldermede to test their character when they aren’t on party manners to handle ‘The Indian Gentleman’ whose race is, as an Indian saying goes, ‘The Elephant in the room;’ a large and difficult to ignore impediment.”

“Are you inviting me to come between you and one of the women you’re considering?” asked Jeb.

“No; I’m inviting you to be a bit of leaven to the female company; and because I can only choose one, and you never know; you might meet a lass who is more willing to be a farmer’s wife. I’ve had at least one informing me that she can milk cows and goats if my definition of ‘comfortable’ does not stretch to a dairy maid.”

“Damn, I’ll do it!  I do have a man of all work, and his wife, as well as the hands on the farm, and he was happy for me to go off and follow Esther, wherever you took her. Aldermede? Does that mean you’re the new viscount?”

“Hush, my dear fellow, not a word to the ladies. I want – quixotic, I know – to be chosen for myself, not a bauble.  And before you ask, yes, my uncle hadn’t a feather to fly with; my father bailed him out continually. But I hope to make something beautiful of my ramshackle seat.”

“Well! I wish you best. I doubt Esther will show to her best advantage, but then, I already know her as a trifle precious, so I have my eyes open.”

“Why don’t you go play billiards with the gentleman you followed in?” suggested Edwin. “I will not be leaving until the afternoon.”

 

oOoOo

 

“Let us see Jeb Curtis’s silly girl first, and see if she totally irritates me,” said Edwin.

“You’re more or less obliged to take her, now you’ve invited Jeb,” said Elinor, disapprovingly.

“I suppose so. Very well, Ram Gopal, go and ask for Miss Mortimer,” said Edwin. 

“There is a serving hatch into the other parlour, sir, if you wished to go and listen,” said Ram Gopal. “I ascertained this when I went to procure coffee.”

“Oh, splendid,” said Edwin.

 

oOoOo

 

The five young women sat uncomfortably in the other parlour, covertly looking at each other.

“Oh, how ridiculous this is!” said Angela. “I’m Angela Cubitt; I’m the daughter of a vicar, but now an orphan.”

“Well, you poor thing, you don’t have a chance,” said a lovely woman in her mid twenties, with pale blonde hair. “I, after all, am beautiful and suitable to be shown off when the gentleman entertains, and grace the jewellery he will buy me. I’m Jane Northcote, and I’m prepared to settle for giving some ugly old man a child in order to enjoy a long widowhood.”

“What makes you think he’s an ugly old man?” asked Angela.

“Oh, please! Are you so naive and young that you think it romantic, or something?” sneered Jane. “Why would he advertise for a bride if he wasn’t ugly and old? I just hope he has enough money to make it worth the effort.”

“And I thought I was mercenary!” blurted out the youngest girl, who was neither really blonde, nor yet dark enough to be brunette. “I’m Alexandra Hendry, and at least I’m assuming from the age he specified that he wanted a wife around his own age. Are you inside the upper limit, Miss Northcote? At least I’m not ageing.”

“Why, you pert chit!” Jane Northcote raised a hand.

“Careful,” said Angela. “I’m sure the Indian gentleman would ask why there was a hand mark on the babe amongst us, and it might spoil your chances. Why did I say that?”

Alexandra giggled.

“Because you are nice enough to spare me a slap,” she said.

“Slap my daughter and I’ll return it with interest,” said Mrs. Hendry.

“Oh, and what kind of Abbess are you, selling a daughter so young?” sneered Jane.

“My sister couldn’t make it,” said Alexandra. “I don’t know what you mean by an Abbess but I don’t think you mean anything to do with holy women.”

“I fancy the pert child has said what most of us are thinking,” said a tall, graceful brown-haired young woman. “And those of us with more worldly experience realise that he specified an age in order to find a wife who is likely to be fertile. I am Esther Mortimer, and I am inclined to agree in some respect with Miss Northcote, in that the gentleman is probably pock-marked, or has a squint. But so long as he can keep me in the state to which I am accustomed as the only child of a doctor, I do not really care, so long as I do not have to grub in the dirt or feed chickens or milk cows.”

“What’s the problem with seeing to the livestock?” asked Angela. “Most of us are applying to marry a man who can make sure we have a comfortable life, if he expects the family cow to be milked, isn’t that a way of giving back?”

“We’ll do that in spoiling our figures giving him a brat,” said Esther. “Whoever he chooses deserves to be pampered.”

The last young lady, who was holding a small boy close, chuckled.

“Well, I have to say, I would be prepared to help out; but then, I’m also asking for my brother to be put through school and university. I’m Clara Snowe.”

“Or I could go to sea,” piped up Tommy.

“Never mind that for now,” said Clara. “I am not about to second guess what the gentleman looks like, or, more important, what his personality is like. If he is amiable, that is a good outcome.”

“Bravo,” said Angela.

 

Edwin slipped back to the interview room.

“Send in Miss Mortimer,” he said to Ram Gopal. “Let’s get the interview with her over and done with. I will invite her, if only to teach her that a bird in hand is worth two in a bush. I hope Mr. Curtis chooses one of the others,” he added.

“You’re sore because she said you might have a squint,” said Elinor.

“I don’t really want a wife who has no concept of being a companion, and expects to be pampered,” said Edwin. “I don’t expect a wife to care for livestock; but I do expect her to enter into my interests and do more than lie in bed half the day.”

 

oOoOo

 

Esther Mortimer came into the room, surveyed Elinor and Edwin, who had risen on her arrival as a gentleman must, and her eyes widened. She saw a handsome man with soft, wavy black hair, long-lashed eyes which hid the colour in the candlelight, and a slightly foreign cast to his features, which were swarthy but not as dark as she had expected.

“No squint,” said Edwin, solemnly. “Please be seated, Miss Mortimer. No social diseases, and aged five-and-twenty.”

Esther sat down, blushing.

“I did not think a handsome man would need to advertise,” she blurted out.

“Well, Miss Mortimer, when you go to dances, I am sure that you very rapidly find out from one source or another all about any gentleman you meet, and what he is worth, his prospects, antecedents, relatives, and reputation?”

“Why, yes, though I have only a limited circle in which to find entertainment.”

“Nevertheless, women are usually excellent intelligencers, and it is the task of mothers to set the servants to uncovering everything.  I am happy to see what those women who answered count as ‘comfortable,’ because that tells me a great deal about those I have invited to interview. Those who expect any lands I own to be farmed by hands, those prepared to help me if needed.”

“If you expect me to care for animals, I am not interested,” said Esther.

“Has it occurred to you that I might expect a wife to be a partner in other ways?” said Edwin. “That I might wish her to enter into my interests?”

“Oh, I am a good listener,” said Esther. “Though you cannot expect me to understand stocks and shares; too unwomanly.”

“Oh, I would not ask you to do that, if it does not interest you,” said Edwin. “But I would expect you to keep up with current affairs in the news, and be ready to discuss it with me; to be able to keep household accounts and go through them with the housekeeper; to make some choices in the serving of meals; to write out invitations for dinners and balls, and help at least with the planning of the same. And to know and be able to greet all of my employees and tenants.”

“I... suppose that is not too much,” said Esther, who was shocked. “I do read the pages about the royals and those in society, but I wouldn’t know who was having affaires.”

“I don’t mean those sorts of affaires,” said Edwin. “By current affairs, I mean, what is happening in the war, what new laws are enacted, and any extraordinary occurrences.”

“But who is interested in those sorts of things?” asked Esther, bewildered.

“You’d be interested if I had to retrench because a merchant ship from India, carrying goods I own, was captured by the French,” said Edwin, cynically. “Or if there was a new tax on something I import, so that the profit margin was reduced.”

“You mean things like that make a difference?” said Esther.

“They do,” said Edwin. “You can wait; I think you might be coming to the house party. Please send in...” he made a show of looking at his notes, “... Miss Jane Northcote.”

Esther rose, curseying again as he rose and bowed, and sashayed out.

“Wants a good spanking,” said Elinor.

“I never lay hands on a woman,” said Edwin.

“Well, if she irritates me enough, I might give her one,” said Elinor. “There’s excuse for that Abigail girl, who used the etiquette book to write, if she’s not very clever. That can’t be helped. It’s those who don’t use the brains God gave them that get me irritated.”

“I believe some girls are encouraged to pretend stupidity to avoid men thinking them to be bluestockings,” said Edwin. “A deplorable thing to do to anyone, to stultify them purely to fit a false role, but I do not think that one is deliberately playing down any brains, merely that she is bone idle.”

 

The door opened and Jane Northcote came in. She dropped a perfunctory curtsey and sat, when invited, looking slightly puzzled.

“Is the prospective bridegroom too sick to look over the prospective brides?” said Jane, lightly. “One rather expected that he would at least come himself, not send a proxy.”

“What makes you think he has sent a proxy, my girl?” said Elinor, tartly.

Jane gave a tinkling laugh.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said.

“Indulge me,” said Elinor.

Jane tossed her head, and flung herself into an attitude. Elinor recognised it as ‘Hera spurning Ganymede,’ and doubted that the girl in front of her had any idea who Ganymede might be, or the implications of the suggestion made by it.

“Well, the gentleman here may be somewhat dark, but in a man it is not necessarily a fault, as a man may achieve a tan in sporting endeavour; but he is also handsome enough to stand up in an assembly room, of the more provincial kind, anyway, and find a sufficiency of women ready to show him partiality, and enough families who accept his suit not to need to advertise.”

“How very sure of yourself you are,” said Elinor.

“Of course; I am beautiful, an English rose, a prize for any man,” said Jane. “Only my family’s poverty has prevented me from marrying a man with a title. Your employer is privileged to have me as a choice. I am sure he will fall in with my wishes readily when we are married.”

“I would strongly recommend to my nephew that he rejects as missish a female as you,” said Elinor. “Employer, indeed! You are not fit to marry anyone who intends entering the ton, as you cannot read social cues and make inaccurate guesses and do not verify your first opinion.”

“Indeed; I think we are done, here,” said Edwin. “Here is enough money to stay overnight, if you wish, and fare to get home. Goodbye, Miss Northcote, you will not be joining the house party.”

“You are not rejecting me out of hand, surely?” gasped Jane. “But I am far and away the most beautiful candidate. You should let the bridegroom have his say.”

“I am,” said Edwin. “And as you favour blunt speech, I do not find you especially attractive. You droop when you sit, and feign indifference to those to whom you speak, which is not an attractive habit, and you have lines of discontent developing, which will only become pronounced as you get older.”

Jane got up, bewildered. She almost stumbled out of the room before making herself stalk back to the other room to collect her maid.

“Beware of him, ladies, there’s something seriously wrong with him, he doesn’t think I’m beautiful!” she declared.

Alexandra giggled.

“Not old enough to need spectacles, then,” she said. Jane did slap her this time; and Mrs. Hendry slapped her back, harder.

Jane withdrew, fulminating.

“Blondes fade so quickly,” she heard Esther say, as she withdrew.

 

“She was striking an attitude,” Elinor explained to Edwin. “It’s a fashionable thing to do; there are books of attitudes drawn from classical statuary for girls to practise.”

“What on earth for?” asked Edwin.

“It’s to help girls overcome shyness, by having an appropriate attitude to strike, rather than stand or sit in a gawky sort of fashion, looking awkward,” said Elinor. “The problem arises when a girl does not have enough classical education to choose an appropriate attitude and carry it off with due aplomb.”

“You know, I could imagine Angela Cubitt, having tripped over an occasional table, brazening it out by declaring that she was Athena being born from the head of Zeus, and the scattered mayhem was his brain matter,” said Edwin.

“An appropriate way to cover a faux pas,” said Elinor. “And of course Zeus did his thinking elsewhere than his brain in any case.”