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Authors: The Dauntless Miss Wingrave
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river for the mere venting of a little temper. And although there had been yet another lecture from Papa the following morning, ending with the oft-repeated suggestion that she learn to control her explosive rages, Emily had known his heart wasn’t in it. No one knew better than her family how hard she tried to behave in a civil manner, and no one knew better than they that the harder she struggled to contain her temper, the greater the explosion when she lost it.
Emily sighed. The rules of proper conduct were so clear, so carefully laid out. Presumably all one had to do was to memorize them and act accordingly. The only thing not taken into consideration was the power of one’s own emotions. One thing was certain, however. Those rules of proper conduct nowhere allowed for the flinging of wine across a dinner table, no matter how great the provocation, no matter how deserving the victim. Such behavior was unacceptable.
Allowing Martha only enough time to soak up the worst of the water from her hair with a rough towel and to braid it into two plaits fastened in loops at the nape of her neck, Emily smoothed the skirt of the simple blue round gown she had donned and went downstairs in search of her sister.
4
T HE ONLY MEMBER OF THE FAMILY PRESENT WHEN EMILY entered the drawing room was Oliver. The young man had drawn an armchair up before the cheerful fire and was slumped in it, his long legs stretched out before him, his right elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin propped up in his hand. He did not notice her until she spoke his name, but then he turned sharply, getting quickly to his feet and feeling to be sure that his neckcloth was in place.
“Aunt Emily, how are you? I trust you took no hurt.”
“No, Oliver, I am perfectly stout, thank you, barring damp hair. I was looking for your mother.”
“She is in her sitting room.” He grinned. “She is studying the lesson for the service tomorrow, for she says old Scopwick bellows so that she cannot attend to what he is saying. He frightens her witless, if you want my opinion.”
“If that is your opinion,” Emily said sternly, “I do not wish to hear it.” Privately she knew Oliver was probably right. Everything frightened Sabrina witless. But Emily would certainly never encourage a young man to speak so rudely about his mother. She was pleased to note that he looked chastened. But still, what was it that he had said? “Services, Oliver? Goodness, I’ve lost count of the days. Tomorrow is indeed Sunday, is it not?”
“Oh, yes,” said Oliver, “but it needn’t be, you know, for Vicar Scopwick holds an evening service every day. I suppose you know that country families were used to have their own prayer service before retiring each night. Many still do, of course, but one of Scopwick’s pet causes is the lack of religious education for those servants and families in households where the custom no longer prevails.”
“But surely people do not simply give all their servants leave to attend daily services,” Emily protested. “How would one run one’s household properly?”
“Just don’t ask Scopwick that question unless you want your ears to ring for hours afterward with his reply,” recommended Oliver. “Our servants could go, I’m sure, simply because Mama is terrified of having him descend upon her in righteous wrath. I know for a fact that she has made generous donations to several of his private causes, for I once heard Cousin Jack taking her to task over the amounts. Scopwick has a clothing fund for poor children, another for the French prisoners of war at the detention camp at Stilington, one to provide postal costs for those prisoners who wish to send letters home to their families, and yet another to provide medical care for anyone who needs a doctor and cannot afford to pay one. I daresay Mama has contributed to all of them. Scopwick probably even pays the smugglers who carry the prisoners’ letters into France,” he added,
Emily sighed. The rules of proper conduct were so clear, so carefully laid out. Presumably all one had to do was to memorize them and act accordingly. The only thing not taken into consideration was the power of one’s own emotions. One thing was certain, however. Those rules of proper conduct nowhere allowed for the flinging of wine across a dinner table, no matter how great the provocation, no matter how deserving the victim. Such behavior was unacceptable.
Allowing Martha only enough time to soak up the worst of the water from her hair with a rough towel and to braid it into two plaits fastened in loops at the nape of her neck, Emily smoothed the skirt of the simple blue round gown she had donned and went downstairs in search of her sister.
4
T HE ONLY MEMBER OF THE FAMILY PRESENT WHEN EMILY entered the drawing room was Oliver. The young man had drawn an armchair up before the cheerful fire and was slumped in it, his long legs stretched out before him, his right elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin propped up in his hand. He did not notice her until she spoke his name, but then he turned sharply, getting quickly to his feet and feeling to be sure that his neckcloth was in place.
“Aunt Emily, how are you? I trust you took no hurt.”
“No, Oliver, I am perfectly stout, thank you, barring damp hair. I was looking for your mother.”
“She is in her sitting room.” He grinned. “She is studying the lesson for the service tomorrow, for she says old Scopwick bellows so that she cannot attend to what he is saying. He frightens her witless, if you want my opinion.”
“If that is your opinion,” Emily said sternly, “I do not wish to hear it.” Privately she knew Oliver was probably right. Everything frightened Sabrina witless. But Emily would certainly never encourage a young man to speak so rudely about his mother. She was pleased to note that he looked chastened. But still, what was it that he had said? “Services, Oliver? Goodness, I’ve lost count of the days. Tomorrow is indeed Sunday, is it not?”
“Oh, yes,” said Oliver, “but it needn’t be, you know, for Vicar Scopwick holds an evening service every day. I suppose you know that country families were used to have their own prayer service before retiring each night. Many still do, of course, but one of Scopwick’s pet causes is the lack of religious education for those servants and families in households where the custom no longer prevails.”
“But surely people do not simply give all their servants leave to attend daily services,” Emily protested. “How would one run one’s household properly?”
“Just don’t ask Scopwick that question unless you want your ears to ring for hours afterward with his reply,” recommended Oliver. “Our servants could go, I’m sure, simply because Mama is terrified of having him descend upon her in righteous wrath. I know for a fact that she has made generous donations to several of his private causes, for I once heard Cousin Jack taking her to task over the amounts. Scopwick has a clothing fund for poor children, another for the French prisoners of war at the detention camp at Stilington, one to provide postal costs for those prisoners who wish to send letters home to their families, and yet another to provide medical care for anyone who needs a doctor and cannot afford to pay one. I daresay Mama has contributed to all of them. Scopwick probably even pays the smugglers who carry the prisoners’ letters into France,” he added,
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