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Authors: Allan Mallinson
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again. ‘I
think
he is well, though his eldest sister suffers ill health still. You did know, did you not, that a younger one died of consumption?’
Hervey did not. He had written to Keble from London but a fortnight ago: he hoped the letter did not intrude on any grief. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Two summers past – the time, in fact, that he stayed here.’
That was a mercy in its way, thought Hervey, though he had written to him several times from Ireland unconscious of his grief. ‘I had no way of knowing when I wrote to him later. And he said nothing by return.’
‘Then he will presume you still do not know.’
‘I shall write to him at once. I should very much like to see him again.’
The younger Towle girl, elevated to parlourmaid since last Hervey had been home, came with the news that Mrs Pomeroy was returned. The household would no longer be reliant on extemporary measures in the kitchen, therefore. ‘Well, Matthew, shall you join us for a proper dinner this evening?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Or do you expect to dine at Longleat?’
‘I really cannot say,’ he said, reddening a little. ‘I still don’t know that Henrietta will return today. Tomorrow is the more likely.’
Moreover, he was by no means certain that Henrietta’s return would bring an invitation to dine. Indeed, nothing haddiscomposed him quite so much of late as the anxiety that his sweetheart might jilt him. And now his father’s troubles with the bishop seemed to threaten his happiness even if she did not, for if the Reverend Thomas Hervey were dispossessed of the living, then his son would be obliged to support the family – with the very means he required to keep a wife.
Hervey looked long at Elizabeth as she gave Hannah Towle instructions. Might she not at least be able to set his mind at rest on the first question? He had never been able to fathom the true extent of his sister’s intimacy with Henrietta, the two being so different that he could not imagine on what basis their familiarity proceeded. In truth, he invariably underestimated their connection, though it made little odds, since asking his sister about his fortunes in love would have been entirely ignoble to him.
Two years of absence suddenly seemed a long time. If Henrietta had changed, then perhaps Elizabeth had too. Hervey’s mother had told him that despite what she was sure had been the pressing attentions of three suitors – of whom Lord John Howard had been one – Elizabeth showed no signs of accepting any offer of marriage. He was sad of it, for his leaving Horningsham with Henrietta would be to make a lonely woman of his sister, now especially that their brother was dead. And, indeed, if the business with the bishop went ill for their father, who could tell what would become of the family?
‘Did you hear what I said, Matthew?’
He was brought rudely back to the present. ‘No, er . . . I . . .’
‘I said that there is one about whom you have not yet asked.’ He looked puzzled.
‘Mrs Strange: I saw her yesterday. She asks to be remembered to you.’
He had not forgotten. He had enquired of her of both his mother and father, but their replies had not yielded much beyond the here and now. ‘I had a letter from her in India, thanking me for the position.’
‘You may never do Horningsham a better favour. The school thrives and her charges are devoted to her,’ said Elizabeth, admiringly. ‘You may see her take them each afternoon on walks about the village. The children learn so much of natural history that I should be ashamed myself to be put to the test. I do believe sheknows the name of every flower underfoot. And before they walk they have spent three hours and more with the slate – writing and numbers and all manner of things. I have even seen her teaching geometry!’
Hervey was gratified by Elizabeth’s enthusiasm. ‘And the obligations of worship don’t trouble her?’
Henrietta shook her head with the same look of
think
he is well, though his eldest sister suffers ill health still. You did know, did you not, that a younger one died of consumption?’
Hervey did not. He had written to Keble from London but a fortnight ago: he hoped the letter did not intrude on any grief. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Two summers past – the time, in fact, that he stayed here.’
That was a mercy in its way, thought Hervey, though he had written to him several times from Ireland unconscious of his grief. ‘I had no way of knowing when I wrote to him later. And he said nothing by return.’
‘Then he will presume you still do not know.’
‘I shall write to him at once. I should very much like to see him again.’
The younger Towle girl, elevated to parlourmaid since last Hervey had been home, came with the news that Mrs Pomeroy was returned. The household would no longer be reliant on extemporary measures in the kitchen, therefore. ‘Well, Matthew, shall you join us for a proper dinner this evening?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Or do you expect to dine at Longleat?’
‘I really cannot say,’ he said, reddening a little. ‘I still don’t know that Henrietta will return today. Tomorrow is the more likely.’
Moreover, he was by no means certain that Henrietta’s return would bring an invitation to dine. Indeed, nothing haddiscomposed him quite so much of late as the anxiety that his sweetheart might jilt him. And now his father’s troubles with the bishop seemed to threaten his happiness even if she did not, for if the Reverend Thomas Hervey were dispossessed of the living, then his son would be obliged to support the family – with the very means he required to keep a wife.
Hervey looked long at Elizabeth as she gave Hannah Towle instructions. Might she not at least be able to set his mind at rest on the first question? He had never been able to fathom the true extent of his sister’s intimacy with Henrietta, the two being so different that he could not imagine on what basis their familiarity proceeded. In truth, he invariably underestimated their connection, though it made little odds, since asking his sister about his fortunes in love would have been entirely ignoble to him.
Two years of absence suddenly seemed a long time. If Henrietta had changed, then perhaps Elizabeth had too. Hervey’s mother had told him that despite what she was sure had been the pressing attentions of three suitors – of whom Lord John Howard had been one – Elizabeth showed no signs of accepting any offer of marriage. He was sad of it, for his leaving Horningsham with Henrietta would be to make a lonely woman of his sister, now especially that their brother was dead. And, indeed, if the business with the bishop went ill for their father, who could tell what would become of the family?
‘Did you hear what I said, Matthew?’
He was brought rudely back to the present. ‘No, er . . . I . . .’
‘I said that there is one about whom you have not yet asked.’ He looked puzzled.
‘Mrs Strange: I saw her yesterday. She asks to be remembered to you.’
He had not forgotten. He had enquired of her of both his mother and father, but their replies had not yielded much beyond the here and now. ‘I had a letter from her in India, thanking me for the position.’
‘You may never do Horningsham a better favour. The school thrives and her charges are devoted to her,’ said Elizabeth, admiringly. ‘You may see her take them each afternoon on walks about the village. The children learn so much of natural history that I should be ashamed myself to be put to the test. I do believe sheknows the name of every flower underfoot. And before they walk they have spent three hours and more with the slate – writing and numbers and all manner of things. I have even seen her teaching geometry!’
Hervey was gratified by Elizabeth’s enthusiasm. ‘And the obligations of worship don’t trouble her?’
Henrietta shook her head with the same look of
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