“The very one.”
“Whatever does he want? Oh, I hope it is not more bad news… another death, perhaps.”
“No, no. Nothing like that. He wishes… he wishes to pay his addresses to you.”
“Mr Tiller?” she said in some astonishment.
“He claims to have long held an attachment to you.”
“Oh, yes… well, no, not to me particularly. To my dowry, rather. When Papa was alive and… and we were comfortably situated, it was well known that I would have a good dowry and would eventually inherit everything. Mr Tiller paid me some attention then, indeed, he offered for me twice. But unless his circumstances have changed, he cannot afford to marry me now.”
“He tells me he is likely in time to become a partner to the attorney by whom he is employed,” Uncle Cathcart said.
“Oh yes, but Mr Gray has not yet done it, and may never do it. Mr Tiller is thirty already, you know, and I do not think he is a very good attorney, for he gets in a muddle sometimes and Mr Gray has to look over everything he does.”
“That does not sound very promising. But perhaps there is more to his prospects than the distant hope of a partnership, and if your feelings have undergone a change…”
“But they have not.”
“Then shall I send him away disappointed? If you do not wish to see him…?”
“I do not mind seeing him. Any friend from Branton is welcome, for he will bring me news of my other friends.”
“Then I shall send him up here to talk to you.”
Mr Geoffrey Tiller was a personable young man, rather fashionably dressed for an attorney, but then he had always aimed high, and from the moment he qualified as an attorney, had pursued every heiress who crossed his path with relentless amiability and undisguised avarice. He had been part of Katherine’s court for a number of years, only drifting away now and again when a more promising prospect hove into view.
He sat for some time with the Athertons making civil conversation before requesting a private interview with Katherine, and that business being speedily concluded with a gently worded but decided refusal, he settled down again, quite unabashed, to delicately flirt with Emily instead. Mrs Atherton, seeing only the agreeable young man and not knowing of his fortune-hunting ways, invited him to dinner, where he spent the evening bestowing every possible attention on Emily, quite undeterred by the fact that she was reduced to blushing incoherence in his company.
Even Mrs Atherton had tired of him by the time he bowed himself out of the door at midnight to walk down the hill to the White Horse, and forbore to ask him to call again. Katherine thought he was quite capable of calling anyway, if he thought it worth his while, but having found out from Emily that her portion would not be above five thousand, and not even that if a man could be persuaded to take her for less, she was sure he would not appear again, and so it proved. The servants brought word the next day that his hired post chaise had set off back to Lancashire shortly after breakfast.
Katherine was pleased to be rid of him. She could not at all understand why he had come, for the thousand pounds from her uncle was hardly an inducement to a man of Mr Tiller’s ilk, and he did not even bring much news with him. He said very little of poor Mr Vance, and nothing at all of anyone else. He had been travelling about a bit, he said, and had spent the last six months at Mr Gray’s office in Lancaster, so he knew nothing of Branton.
She was exceedingly disappointed in him. His only function, it seemed, was to provide gossip for the spinsters of the parish who gathered in Mrs Dewar’s parlour to sew, and spent an inordinate amount of time teasing Katherine gently about what they described as her lovelorn swain. She was relieved to return after these outings to the less trying atmosphere of Westwick Heights, where the topic of the day had now progressed to the quantity of bookcases required for the Dower House library.
Katherine had no opinion on bookcases, and therefore was permitted to retreat to the pianoforte and play to her heart’s content, mostly easy pieces that allowed her mind to wander freely over any number of subjects, such as where Kent might be, and what he was doing, and whether he would revert to his smuggling activities when he returned. Most of all, she wondered whether he thought of her as much as she thought of him, or whether she had already faded in his mind, like the paper on a sunny wall, becoming greyer and more indistinct with every day that passed.
***
Kentnoticedthechimneysfirst. The town would look just like any other town were it not for the chimneys, monstrous great fingers pointing at the sky, clouds of smoke pouring from them. He could see warehouses, too, towering over the houses and shops below them. And everywhere he looked, he smiled as he thought of Katherine walking these streets, Katherine seeing the chimneys, Katherine gazing into shop windows. When he passed a gaggle of women chatting together outside a milliner’s shop, he imagined her as one of them, laughingly discussing the bonnets displayed, wondering which was the most becoming. And although there was pain in remembering her, he was happy to think he was encountering her spirit on every street corner.
Branton! Her town… her home, the place that had shaped her. The one place where she had felt at ease in society, where she had not blushed and stammered and been rendered inarticulate. She had surely never been inarticulate amongst her friends here. She would have talked freely, just as she had with Mrs Vance, and given him that unexpected glimpse of the friendly girl beneath the terrified mask.
The postilions took him to a respectable-looking inn, where the innkeeper instantly recognised him as a person of importance. How did they do that? His manner of speaking, perhaps, or the quality of his clothes. He had never thought much about it, but it always happened that way. Was it the way he walked, with an air of assurance? Or perhaps he simply expected to be treated with respect, and thus it came about.
However it was, he was given a large bedroom and a pleasant parlour with a good fire already blazing, and a tray of refreshments followed him up the stairs.
“This is our best parlour, sir,” the innkeeper said. “We’ve mutton and beef on the spit for your dinner, and the wife can do a chicken if you’ve a mind for it.”
“Any fish?”
“I’ll ask, sir. We’ve a cosy room for your manservant, too. I’ll have hot water sent up to you right away.”
“Not yet. I should like to pay a call on an acquaintance first… Mrs Vance. Do you know her?”
“Ah, the poor lady! Such a sad loss.”
“She is dead?” Kent said, startled.
