Part 1 (2/2)
He had not seen Lord Crandall since the death of his second son, Timothy, seven years before, killed in the retreat from Corunna and buried with all military honor in the Hannaford vault. James, an undergraduate at New College then, had attended the obsequies, his face serious, his eyes troubled. And I never invited him back, Sir Waldo thought with a pang. I was always afraid to see him again, because he was so closely allied with Tim. I may not have been fair to any of us. I wonder, first of all, if I owe him an apology?
James was even taller than before, with that purposeful stride of all Enders men. Not a lollygagger in the bunch, Sir Waldo thought, as he gazed with something close to fondness on his dead son's friend. Big hands and big feet and a wide mouth, he observed. The Almighty was generous in all ways to that particular twig on the branch of the human family. None of them handsome, but they do have an air.
And then he was standing in front of Sir Waldo, his hand extended. Wordlessly, Sir Waldo came forward, then found himself caught in a bear hug of an embrace, something he had not antic.i.p.ated, but which he found gratifying in the extreme. And then what would the young man do but take his hand and kiss it? Sir Waldo felt tears start in his eyes. What is it about you Enders? he asked himself as he allowed his hand to be kissed and then held. Such a gesture would seem strange indeed from another, but from James it seemed so fitting as to make him grateful he had come here, no matter the outcome.
”You have been too long away, Jemmy,” he said simply. ”Or I have.”
”No matter,” the viscount replied. ”There's hardly a rip in the world that can't be mended. Come inside with me, and I'll send my man for beer and cheese.”
Soon Sir Waldo was seated, warm and comfortable, in what must be Lord Crandall's favorite chair, all rump-sprung and soft, while his host sat cross-legged on a shabby rug in front of the fire, toasting cheese. ”I suppose I should serve you something better than cheese and beer,” he said, turning the fork with a certain flair that told Sir Waldo volumes about his young friend's dining habits. ”I like it, though, and suppose that others should, too.” He deposited the cheese on a plate next to a slice of toast and handed it to Sir Waldo. ”And excuse me, sir, but Madeira is for old men.”
Sir Waldo took the plate, relis.h.i.+ng the fragrance of the cheese. ”This is the perfect antidote to last night's dinner,” he said. It was good, he decided, and as plain and ordinary-seeming as the man sitting on the floor.
”You've been dining in London, I'll wager,” James said. ”Visiting Louisa?”
”Indeed, yes,” he said. ”I have left Lady Hannaford there.” He lowered his voice. ”Louisa has just been through a confinement and finds her mother's presence to be a comfort, even if this is our fifth grandchild. A son again, Louisa's third.”
”Congratulations, sir,” James said. He forked another wedge of cheese onto Sir Waldo's plate, and nodded for his man to pour the beer. He turned his attention to the fireplace again. ”And the rest of your family? What do you hear from Charles?”
”Still in Paris, and hoping-along with all Europe, I believe-that this Second Treaty of Paris will put a period to French trouble.”
He fell silent then, thinking of his second son, dead at Corruna, who would be alive yet if Napoleon had not adventured where he was not wanted. To his gratification, James seemed to understand his silence. He leaned back and touched Sir Waldo's leg, giving it a little shake. The gesture was as intimate as his earlier kiss, and Sir Waldo's heart was full. This is the only man for my beloved Olivia, he told himself.
”I miss Tim,” James said simply. ”I am twenty-eight, dear sir, and I look in the mirror and see lines and wrinkles that were not there a year ago. But Tim is forever twenty-one and young.”
”So he is,” Sir Waldo managed to say. He took a deep drink from the mug in his hand. I cannot fault his ale, he thought. He may live like a student still, but he knows his victuals.
”We have all been too long from each other,” James said after a bite of cheese and a quaff of his own. ”I did not come around because I did not wish to give you added pain.”
Straightforward like all the Enders, eh? Sir Waldo thought. You say what you think, rather like Olivia, and somehow, it is the right thing. ”There was a time,” he began, but could not continue. They ate in silence then, raising their gla.s.ses in tribute to the one who was not there. In his own book of life, Sir Waldo felt a page turn.
”Charles hopes to be home for Christmas,” he said, handing his plate to the valet. ”Louisa and her family, too, if she and the baby are strong enough to travel.”
”How nice for you,” James said. ”I suppose I will go to London and Papa, although it would be nice to see Charles.”
He waited then, expectant without appearing nosy, for Sir Waldo to explain his visit. Sir Waldo hesitated. As right as he is for Olivia, I have no business p.r.o.nouncing this scheme I hatched, he thought. I could merely say something about wanting to see him after all these years, and it would be right enough. I could extend one of those meaningless invitations to visit us for Christmas and leave it at that. He sighed. And I could throw Olivia onto the Marriage Mart with all the other hopeful girls and pray that one man in ten thousand will see and understand her special qualities, and even love her for them. Or I could speak. He cleared his throat.
”Jemmy, I have a daughter,” he began.
”I believe you have three, sir,” James said with a smile. He raised his knees and rested his arms on them, his eyes on Sir Waldo's face. ”Has Lady Hannaford ever forgiven Tim and me for a.s.sisting in the removal of Olivia's two front teeth?”
Sir Waldo laughed, and his young friend joined in. ”Oh, they were due out, lad! The only thing Martha took exception to was when Tim taught Olivia to spit through the vacant s.p.a.ce. I believe you were blameless in that.”
”Actually, yes.” He grinned. ”How nice to have a pure heart for once.”
How good to talk about Tim! ”Jemmy, you are an antidote,” he said simply. ”I don't know when Tim was ever in more trouble. Olivia was six then?”
”I believe she was,” James agreed. ”Tim and I were almost eighteen and should have known better. How is Olivia?”
”She is planning for a come-out this spring,” Sir Waldo said. ”Martha and I have been long away from London, but Louisa is all eagerness to do this thing for her little sister.”
”She is eighteen,” James said, more a statement than a question.
”Or as near as.” Sir Waldo paused again. I could still stop here, he reflected. Who is to say that my darling girl will not find the best man on her own? He frowned. And who is to say that she will?
”Jemmy, I want to talk to you about Olivia.” He glanced over his shoulder at the valet, and James nodded to the man. Sir Waldo heard the door close quietly. ”I want to find her a good husband, but I have certain requirements.”
Sir Waldo went to sleep that night in his own bed, a happy man, a father with a clear conscience. I have explained to Lord Crandall my concerns for my dear daughter, he thought, warned him that she is often nose-deep in books, mentioned her considerable fortune in pa.s.sing, not overlooked a single freckle or her unruly hair, and stressed her clear-eyed way of doing things. He smiled in the darkness. I have told Jemmy of his own father's wish to see him married and setting up his nursery, and reminded him of the duty he owes there, and he took it without a murmur. Possibly I am trafficking on his own tenderness for Tim, and the sweetness of Jemmy's own nature. The word love never came up, but kindness did. I am a happy man.
He composed himself for sleep, thankful to be in his own bed, but restless without Martha nearby. I will leave it to James Enders to fill in the details. He knows his duty to his own family, and my personal interests to this little sister of his great good friend. Sir Waldo smiled into the darkness. One can hope for love, too. Stranger things have happened.
It took until the middle of November for James Enders to nerve himself to consider the next step-his step-in Sir Waldo's plan. When he should have been concentrating on student recitations in tutorials, his fertile brain was taxing itself with a plan of his own. He had earlier congratulated himself that while he had agreed to actively consider little Olivia Hannaford- great gadfreys, was she old enough for a man's bed?- as a partner in marriage, the matter was not chipped onto an obelisk somewhere. I can certainly take a month to visit Enderfield, he reasoned. If she takes my fancy, I can pursue the matter.
How, he had no idea, not one. True, his undergraduate days had not been without occasional visits to discreet women, and there was even one term when he was certain he was besotted with an opera dancer; the occasions pa.s.sed, as do all the storms of youth. He had gone to Almack's like the proper gentleman he was, bowed and danced, and carried on what light conversation he possessed, which was precious little. These females do not wish to know of autopsies, and quivering muscles of rats, and the beauty of motion, and the people who perform the world's labor, he decided, after one particularly profitless evening several years before. He would not thought it possible for a living woman's eyes to glaze over while he talked, but after that evening, he did not doubt it again. He never returned to Almack's.
He knew he wanted a wife. Enough of his friends were walking arm in arm with pretty things that bore their name and children. Despite the concentration of hours and hours of rational scholars.h.i.+p, he found himself longing late at night, or at odd moments in the day, to reach for something besides another pillow, or a second book off the shelf. ”I want a wife,” he declared out loud.
”My lord, we all do,” said his student, grinning in spite of himself.
”Forgive that, Walters. I received a wedding announcement from a friend today, and the matter was on my brain,” he lied. ”Now, where were we?”
”I was describing the function of the female pelvic floor,” the student said.
James had the good grace to laugh. ”Walters, that accounts for it! Do proceed, and I will remember my manners.”
He delayed in suggesting to his father that they return to Enderfield for Christmas, partly out of stubbornness, and partly from a certain delicate shyness that he knew was part of his nature, and which irritated him from time to time.
He did bring up the matter during dinner after one of his visits to London University. I wonder if frica.s.see of liver was the right choice tonight, he asked himself. I have been wrist deep in a hip reduction all afternoon, and this looks very like. He pushed away the plate. ”Papa, let us go home for Christmas,” he suggested.
The sentence had barely left his mouth when his father declared that it as a capital idea. ”I am perfectly at liberty to go as soon as you wish, son,” he said. He frowned at his own plate. ”Ah, Jemmy, we have been so long away that things are probably shabby there. I wonder... do you think... do we dare impose on Sir Waldo to loan us Olivia to offer suggestions on refurbishment? If she is anything like her mother, she has some skills along those lines.”
It was a wonderful suggestion, and James leaped on it. Only after he was lying in bed that night did he wonder if Sir Waldo had been discussing intimate matters with his own father. It seemed unlikely, considering his father's somewhat formal demeanor, and Sir Waldo's easygoing nature. Merely a coincidence, he told himself. And that probably accounted for his dream of dissecting frica.s.see while Sir Waldo smiled benignly from a seat in the surgeon's gallery. At least he did not dream about Olivia; those dreams left him a trifle embarra.s.sed with himself.
There is something about Sir Waldo's suggestion that is doing strange things to me, he thought the next afternoon as he walked from the Camera back to All Souls. Is the world in a conspiracy? Only moments ago among the books, he had chanced upon one of his brightest pupils and surprised himself by suggesting that they end the tutorial a week ahead of the Christmas holidays. He knew the lad-so intense, so eager to learn- would object, but he had not been prepared for the swiftness of his acquiescence.
”You don't mind?” James had inquired in all amazement.
”I'll bear the strain, Lord Crandall,” was the reply, given in such a serious tone that James could not be sure if he was being quizzed. Students today are certainly more subtly layered than I ever was, he thought as he nodded and left the Camera.
He surprised himself further by his own heated argument with his valet that night as the poor man attempted to pack his clothing for the return to Enderfield. James knew that his was a mild disposition, absentminded even, in all areas outside of his studies, and he disconcerted himself with the vehemence he directed toward his own shabby s.h.i.+rts and collars. Mason, ever the soul of rect.i.tude, was finally driven to say in clipped tones, ”My lord, if you will not go to a tailor, the result is what is laid before you!”
”You could have insisted more strenuously,” James countered, but he knew his argument was weak at best. The valet only tightened his lips and maintained a stony silence that persisted throughout the remainder of the evening. I have been more pointedly ignored only by cats, James thought as he went to a cold bed unenc.u.mbered by the usual solace of a warming pan. I can only hope that Mason's miff wears off before he brings me shaving water with ice chunks in the morning.
To his great relief, the shaving water was hot. Mason unbent long enough to inform his master that he had taken the liberty of writing to Lord Crandall's London tailor to request an audience the next afternoon. ”My lord, you are going to London anyway to retrieve your father,” Mason reminded him. James thought it prudent not to argue.
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