Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 4

  Her ladyship’s effects, including one or two pieces of furniture to which she was particularly attached, were packed into a couple of coaches, the much reduced staff into another and, with Lady Armitage and her companion leading the way in the small carriage which they were intending to retain, along with the pair of horses that was all they could afford to keep, they drove out of the gates.

  Agnes had been prepared for tears but her ladyship, although she lacked the strength to control her son – had no apparent difficulty in controlling herself. She said nothing as they passed the gates and did not speak for some time as they trotted along the road. Agnes said nothing either, believing that her presence was the only comfort she could reasonably offer at this juncture. If Lady Armitage wished to speak of her feelings, no doubt she would do so but Agnes, who never wanted to speak of her own if she could avoid doing so, did not think that either commiserations or cheerful exhortations to look on the bright side would be of any assistance.

  They did not arrive at their new house until some time after darkness had fallen. Lady Armitage said, as the landscape began to disappear into night and it became increasingly difficult for the passengers to know where they were, “I wish I had had the forethought to send Jess on ahead so that she could have had the fire lit and some candles alight to guide us up the path.”

  “Yes; I am sorry I did not think of that,” Agnes admitted.

  “I’m sure I don’t know why you should have thought of it if I did not. I believe it has taken us longer to travel than I had expected. I suppose it is on account of being in such a small vehicle with only two horses to pull us along.”

  “Well, when we do arrive, I insist that you remain in the carriage until I have opened the door and lit at least one candle,” Agnes told her. “I cannot permit you to trip over on your new front path; that would be too bad.”

  “It would be all of a piece,” her ladyship said on a despondent note. “I hope we shall not be too unhappy here.”

  “I see no reason why we should,” Agnes said. “It will all be new so that you will not, at least, be bumping into memories every second moment.”

  “No, but I am afraid I am too old to take easily to new things,” Lady Armitage said. “But it will be agreeable for you to be so near to your friend, will it not?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Agnes agreed without a great deal of enthusiasm. She thought that, much as she loved Louisa and stimulating though she found her company, a little went quite a long way. She hoped Louisa would not be hanging around them all the time for she was afraid that, when she grew weary of Lady Armitage and her megrims, she might concentrate the dazzle of her personality upon her friend and ignore the widow.

  They knew they were nearly there when the carriage turned off the main road and began to make its way along a narrow, rutted cart track. When at last it drew to a halt they found themselves outside a small cottage whose windows blazed with light and whose door was flung open as soon as the vehicle stopped.

  “Are you sure this is the right house?” Lady Armitage asked in a dazed voice.

  “I believe so – and look, there is Louisa on the doorstep with a lantern. I don’t doubt she will have lit a fire to welcome us,” Agnes said, revising her opinion of her friend with a small stab of guilt.

  The coachman had barely drawn up his horses before a boy ran forward to open the door and let down the steps and another darted up to take the horses’ heads.

  Louisa, holding her lantern aloft, strode down the path, paused to explain to the affronted coachman that neither young man was going to take his job but had been employed only to help bring in the baggage and to show him, Paul, the way to the stables.

  “Hmnph, very kind, I’m sure,” Paul mumbled, jumping to the ground rather creakily and going at once to hand his ladies down.

  “Welcome to your new home, my lady,” Louisa cried. “You may not like the way I have arranged the furniture,” she went on, “but I was obliged to put it somewhere. It can, of course, be moved so pray do not take offence if anything seems to be in the wrong place.”

  “I am sure it will be perfect,” Lady Armitage said, shedding the first tear since she had left her old home. “I was only saying to Agnes half an hour ago what a pity it was that I had not thought to send the servants on ahead instead of making them come behind us. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your being here – it is so very, very kind.”

  “Not at all,” Louisa exclaimed. “Pray come in. There is a fire in the saloon and a bottle of wine and a simple meal awaiting you. You have come a long way and must be excessively fatigued.”

  She led the way up the narrow path and through the plain wooden door into the small hall where candles threw shadows on to the newly painted walls. It was an old house but everything inside was new and bright. Gesturing to her tenants to take the chairs arranged around the fire, she drew the brand new curtains herself.

  “I left them undrawn until you arrived because I thought the light showing from the road would be welcoming,” she explained, turning round to gaze with childish pleasure upon her friends, both of whom looked, if not precisely bedraggled, certainly exhausted and travel-stained.

  Chapter 5

  Mr and Mrs Newbolt returned from London shortly after Agnes and Lady Armitage moved into the cottage. Mrs Newbolt did not like to leave her daughter too long unattended in the country although she did not, herself, enjoy ‘wading through mud’ and having no parties to attend.

  “What have you been doing with yourself all alone out here?” she asked, casting herself down upon a sofa and studying her nails with rapt attention.

  “I have not been altogether alone most of the time,” Louisa told her. “Do you not remember, Mama? I wrote to tell you that I had an old schoolfriend staying.”

  “Yes, of course I remember, dearest,” Mrs Newbolt replied testily. “But she is not still here, is she?”

  “Not quite. She has moved into a cottage on the estate with Lady Armitage, who has recently been widowed.”

  “Oh, yes, I know that; you kept writing to Papa asking his permission for all sorts of extravagances to prettify the cottage. So it is all done now?”

  “Yes, more or less – and very charming it is too. I hope they will be happy there.”

  “Is there some doubt about it?” Mrs Newbolt asked, although Louisa did not think she cared one way or another.

  Louisa loved her mother – most people love their mothers and Louisa was no exception – but they do not always find it easy to live in harmony with each other – and, again, Louisa and Mrs Newbolt were no exception. They had little in common apart from the forcefulness of their characters. They were not interested in the same things – Mrs Newbolt thought of little but her appearance and parties and Miss Newbolt thought nothing of either of these but took, instead, what her mother considered an unnatural interest in her father’s business. Indeed, Mr Newbolt was on the point of doing the most extraordinary thing: he was thinking of inviting her to join him in the running of his business. He had suggested the idea to his wife while they were in London and Louisa was safely out of the way in Sussex, but it had not met with approval.

  “It is quite bad enough that you are a cit, Peter,” Mrs Newbolt had said; the vulgarity of her appearance and the loudness of her voice belied her origins, which were of the first rank. It seemed that, by marrying a cit, she had espoused everything that went with such a move. Where a humble girl who marries above her station frequently assumes the highest instep amongst her acquaintance, Mrs Newbolt, who was the daughter of a Viscount, had travelled in the opposite direction.

  “Indeed, I am afraid that her papa’s background is one of the reasons she is not yet married,” she had exclaimed upon learning of his intentions, “but to consider, even for a moment, making her a cit in her own right is perfectly outlandish! She will never find a husband if you do that!”

  “Have you considered that she might prefer to run a business than a house?” he asked, unruffled by his w
ife’s reaction.

  “It is not a matter which requires consideration,” she responded. “She cannot possibly do that!”

  “You have done that,” he reminded her. “Oh, I know you take no interest in the business but you play the business wife to perfection.”

  “You mean because my taste is vulgar?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. What upset her when meted out by the ladies of the upper ten thousand amused her when mentioned by her husband. “But Louisa is not by any means uncouth.”

  “No, but she is, if anything, even more domineering than you, my love,” he replied, smiling at her with undiminished good humour. “I cannot see her languishing over the teacups with any degree of satisfaction. I think she could do it very well.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t suppose it is very difficult,” his wife said provocatively. “I did not mean that she would not be capable of doing such a thing, only that it is unheard of for a lady to take such employment.”

  “Not altogether,” he said mildly. “There are one or two. The trouble with Louisa, of course, is that she is not quite a lady and running a business, while deemed amusing for a titled female, might be looked down upon in a woman of Louisa’s pedigree. However, she is not so very young now and, from what she has told me, singularly unenthusiastic about attending fashionable parties and flirting with milksops. I believe it would be just the thing for her. She might even meet a man she’d like to marry.”

  “And become a dyed-in-the-wool cit?” she exclaimed, horrified, for, however happy she had been with her low-ranking husband, she yearned for her only child to return to the bosom of the aristocracy. “You are absolutely not to suggest it. In any event, I am resolved to give her another chance and will bring her to London again in the spring.”

  “Very well; if you can persuade her to attend Almack’s every Wednesday you are welcome to try. I will say nothing until next autumn.”

  Mrs Newbolt accounted this climb-down a success; she was not surprised; she generally got her own way with her husband but recently it had become harder to overcome her daughter’s resistance.

  “I was thinking, Mama,” Louisa said later to her mother, “that I might invite a few friends to visit in the next few weeks – before the weather becomes too gloomy. Would that meet with your approval?”

  Mrs Newbolt brightened at this suggestion. “We could hold a ball,” she said.

  “Yes, that was what I thought and I hoped you would like the idea,” Louisa said, smiling with satisfaction. “It is several months since Agnes’s father died and, now that she has taken a position with Lady Armitage, I feel she needs something to look forward to. I own, too, that I would like to give her the opportunity to find a beau before she is entirely consumed by her duties as a companion.”

  “What an excellent notion!” Mrs Newbolt exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight for she hoped that perhaps her daughter might find one at the same time. “We will put our heads together and see what we can come up with.”

  Mr Newbolt was pleased to see his wife and daughter join together in a project and made no demur about filling his house with a number of young people.

  “What about the widow?” Mrs Newbolt asked. “Should we, do you think, invite a few gentlemen of her age in the hope that she too may find a beau?”

  “Perhaps we should,” Louisa agreed rather doubtfully, “but it is less than a year since her husband died so that I do not think she is likely to wish to form an attachment just yet.”

  She was relieved, but not surprised, to note that her mother did not recognise the name as that of one of her daughter’s unsuccessful suitors. Her father, a man who seemingly never forgot anything, did.

  “Is that the mother of the fortune-hunter who was sniffing after you a few years ago?” he asked when Mrs Newbolt had left the room.

  “One of them, yes, but pray do not remind Mama; indeed, pray say nothing to anyone because Lady Armitage has no knowledge of her son’s fruitless attempt.”

  “But will he not visit his mama from time to time?” Mr Newbolt asked.

  “No; he has joined up and been sent to Africa. I should think it unlikely he will ever return but certainly he is not expected in the near future.”

  “Very well; but, if he does turn up, you will have to be prepared to be gracious to him. I seem to remember that you made no bones about rejecting his offer and sent him away with his tail between his legs. Is that why he has gone to Africa, do you suppose?”

  “No; he didn’t care a button for me but he is the reason his poor mama is forced to live in a labourer’s cottage; he cleared out his papa’s bank account and left their home mortgaged. She has been obliged to find a tenant.”

  “Hmn,” Mr Newbolt said. “It is a warning to all parents but I daresay we should not hold the poor widow to blame. She has lost her husband to an early grave and her son to the tropical diseases and bullets in Africa. Has she any other children?”

  “Yes, there is a younger son, who, I understand, is a more reliable person. We can invite him if you like, Papa, if you think that will make poor Lady Armitage happy.”

  “I own I am not particularly interested in Lady Armitage unless you decide to marry one of her sons. Will it make you happy? Have you met the younger one?”

  “No; he was at the university when I met the elder, who is, I suppose, now Sir John, although I cannot think it will do him much good.”

  “Would they not be better to sell the house than let it for what no doubt is a miserable rent?”

  “I don’t think she can do that because it is not in point of fact hers but the dissolute son’s.”

  “What does the younger do to make ends meet? Presumably he receives nothing from the estate – and I sincerely hope he receives nothing from his mother.”

  “I do not know; no doubt his career can be discovered in due course.”

  “No doubt. Well, make up a list of those you want to invite, my dear – not too long. I should think twenty persons would be quite enough so, since we already have two young women – you and Agnes Helman – you will need to find another eight women and ten men. You can ask your mama to help.”

  Mrs Newbolt had a number of ideas and Louisa had her work cut out to prevent her mother from inviting all the unmarried peers she could think of in the hope that at least one would form an attachment to her daughter. She consented to the inclusion of Mr Charles Armitage, suggesting that such a man – a younger son who stood to inherit precisely nothing – might be just the man for Agnes Helman.

  “But, Mama, Agnes has nothing; she could not marry Mr Armitage unless he is engaged on the sort of business which will make him a fortune in a few years’ time.”

  “If he has any sense, he will be doing that sort of thing,” Mrs Newbolt said, “for it seems probable that the elder will succumb to something or other – a bullet or an infection – in Africa and he will inherit the Baronetcy. I don’t think that would be good enough for you, my dear, but I should imagine that Agnes, who is not the prettiest girl in the world, would be delighted to catch even a younger son.”

  “Well, it is of no use her catching him if they would have nothing to live on and, as a matter of fact, she is pretty in a quiet sort of way. I think you are prejudiced because she is a companion and has no portion at all, so far as I know.”

  “If that is the case most gentlemen will not look at her. What is the use of a girl who is neither pretty nor possessed of a fortune?”

  “I suppose,” Louisa said, “that it depends on the sort of beauty you admire: Agnes is a little, delicate thing and her beauty is the kind that wild flowers possess - exquisite and entirely natural. I am persuaded that a great many gentlemen would appreciate it.”

  “I doubt it,” the more experienced mother said. “Wild flowers are easy to trample underfoot – one doesn’t notice them, you see. Gentlemen only pay attention to females who push themselves forward.”

  “Or are pushed forward by their mamas,” Louisa said with a flashing eye.

&
nbsp; “Well, it matters not who does the pushing so long as they are noticed – although being noticed has not been of much use where you are concerned, dear child. Do you not wish to be married?”

  “No, I cannot say that I do. If I were Agnes, probably I would because being a companion is not very amusing and Lady Armitage is excessively morose, although perfectly kind, so far as I can see. But, in my position, the only reason I can think of to change my estate would be to put an end to your demands, Mama.”

  “But do you not care for gentlemen?” her mother asked, drawing her brows together.

  “They are all very well to talk to – and they make more adventurous companions on horseback but I do not want one of my own, hanging about expecting me to pander to his every whim.”

  “But ..,” her mother began.

  “I suppose you think I must want to be admired. No, not really. I have been subjected to a great deal of flummery and I think it very silly.”

  “You would not if you fell in love,” Mrs Newbolt said.

  “You mean, I take it, that if I fell in love I would long to listen to absurd flights of fancy and idiotic promises. Perhaps; I cannot tell but I can say with absolute certainty that I would very much rather not fall in love and lose every vestige of sense I possess.”

  Mrs Newbolt seemed curiously content with this unequivocal reply and, after a quick glance at her daughter’s arrogant expression, fell to examining her nails once more.

  It was decided that the ten men and eight young women would be invited to visit Sussex over Michaelmas, during which a full programme of riding, card playing, charades, singing and dancing would be provided. The culmination of the vacation would be a ball to which a number of local families would be invited to make up enough couples to fill the new ballroom to a satisfying level. Since Michaelmas Day was only a few weeks away, there was no time to be lost and the two women sat down amicably to compile a list, write the invitations and begin to plan the supper – and a new dress for Louisa.