‘Ah,’ said Sir Rowland, ‘but in that instance you have missed a very apposite phrase. Hesiod wrote that “A bad neighbour is a misfortune, as much as a good one is a great blessing”, and I feel confident we shall be good neighbours.’
‘Works and Days, line—’
‘Yes, thank you, Tom. Please note, Penwood, I cannot quote by line number.’ Sir Rowland gave his brother a look which intimated that flaunting his book learning was not desirable.
‘Observe me, chastened,’ sighed Mr Kempsey, meekly.
‘Well, I never thought I would find myself agreeing with an ancient Greek, but he was absolutely right, and I too think we will be good neighbours.’ Sir Harry’s face lost its cheerful look for a moment. ‘My mama is not yet up to more than church and an occasional female friend – oh, and thank you for your very considerate letter to her, but if you would like to come over to the Hall some morning, I would be very pleased to see you.’
‘Best you give us directions, then, or we might not reach you until afternoon,’ murmured Tom.
‘Hmm, he speaks true enough. I know the vague location of your property, but directions would indeed be an aid,’ Sir Rowland admitted. ‘I have a reasonably good memory for places, so once I have found you the first time, I should have no further difficulty.’
Sir Harry readily supplied the directions, which Sir229Rowland repeated back to him, and they parted, both in very good humour.
It was only as he was the better part of his way home that the elusive thought struck Sir Harry as a realisation. He and Sir Rowland Kempsey, who seemed a jolly decent sort, had never met before and yet the connection that Kempsey had brought up several times was Mary Lound. He was pretty sure that Mary would have described his own person very much in fraternal terms, and there was nothing to suggest Kempsey viewed him as a rival to be warned off. The stunning thought was that in fact the man had been indicating his interest as he would to her brother, not quite seeking permission, but certainly advising him of intent. Harry Penwood let out a slow whistle, which made his horse’s ears flick back. So, Mary had an admirer, and a serious one at that. He wondered if she knew, because she might not recognise the signs, and hoped for Kempsey’s sake she did not regard his admiration as some form of affront. You could never tell with Mary. Upon consideration, as long as the fellow learnt to fish well enough, he thought it might be the ideal match, and … A second amazing thought occurred to him. If Mary accepted an offer from Kempsey she would be mistress of Tapley End. Could she … would she … No, surely not? He arrived home in a brown study and his mama enquired if everything was all right. He answered in the affirmative, but to be honest, he was not entirely sure.230
The Kempseys returned, with only one minor ‘detour’, to Tapley End in time for a light luncheon, and Tom said that he would hide away with his books for the afternoon, once he had written a letter to a college friend. Sir Rowland also sought the library, but to take down the Hesiod, which he recalled from discovering the day before, and left Tom to his studies whilst he sat before the fire in the drawing room, testing his rusty Greek for half an hour. He sought the quotation he had used without recourse to Tom to tell him the exact line. He turned pages, not quite idly, and then stopped. He read a passage twice to make sure he had it aright, and then apostrophised the book.
‘I am at least attempting to do as you say, you old Greek.’ He then read the lines out loud, translating as he went. ‘“Bring home a wife to your house when you are of the right age, while you are not far short of thirty years nor much above; this is the right age for marriage.” Well, I am certainly that, which is good. “Let your wife have been grown up four years, and marry her in the fifth.” The trouble is that deciding when a woman is grown-up is not simple. If we say nineteen, then she must be barely more than five years older, since she said she was fifteen ten years ago. We shall say that this also fits. “Marry a maiden, so that you can teach her careful ways, and especially marry one who lives near you, but look well about you and see that your marriage will not be a joke to your neighbours. For a man wins nothing better than a good wife, and, again, nothing worse than a bad one”.’231
He sighed, and grimaced. ‘She lives as near could be, but the rub lies in the last bit. Would my neighbours think anyone marrying Miss Mary Lound is a fool? Perhaps, but then I doubt they have looked beyond the surface of the independent and prickly young woman who speaks her mind. I am not sure I could teach her “careful ways”, whatever they are. I am tempted, yes, I most certainly am tempted, but it is not something one rushes. Six weeks ago, I had never even met her.’ It occurred to him how these six weeks had flown past, and telling himself that it was because he was in a new place with much to take in did not quite work. She was not, he told himself, faultless. He tried enumerating her ‘faults’. She spoke her mind to the point of rudeness; there would undoubtedly be occasions that heated words would be exchanged if he married her, and she would never be a ‘submissive little wife’. ‘But I do not want a submissive little wife,’ he said to himself, ‘and she has wit and brightness to her.’ She was unconventional, and some might even say mannish, though he felt it was more that she had not left behind wanting to prove herself as good as her brothers. It was also true that fragile femininity would help her and her mother not at all in their current situation. ‘Life has not dealt her an easy hand, but she has not crumbled but grown stronger. Living with such a woman might not always be easy but it would be worthwhile.’
He stared into the fire, with a private smile on his face, imagining, and it was as he sat thus that Hanford entered and informed him that Lord and Lady Roxton232were in the great hall, with Miss Banham, and hoped that he was at home.
‘Good gracious, yes. Show them in, Hanford, and go and tell my brother that we have visitors.’ Sir Rowland stood and went from the library, glanced briefly into a pier glass to ascertain that his cravat was not askew, and then stepped forward to greet his unexpected guests.
‘I trust we do not disturb you, Sir Rowland,’ said Lord Roxton, once the civilities had been exchanged.
‘Not at all. I have been sat with a book and contemplation and am only too delighted that you have come to call upon us.’ He indicated a chair that was close to the fire and invited Lady Roxton to be seated. ‘For unless you had a hot brick at your feet, ma’am, you will have cold feet from riding in the carriage.’
Her ladyship acknowledged that her extremities were not warm and thanked him. It was then that Tom Kempsey entered the room and froze. He had no idea that a vision would be sat upon the slightly faded brocade of the sofa, a vision that took his breath from his body. His mouth was suddenly dry and words evaporated for several seconds before he spoke.
‘Forgive me, I …’
‘May I present my brother, Mr Thomas Kempsey. Tom, Lord and Lady Roxton, and their daughter, Miss Banham.’ Sir Rowland, who had forgotten his own brief surprise at the looks of Miss Banham, found it strangely reassuring that Tom, who was rarely at a loss for words, and clever words at that, could be bowled over in an233instant by a beautiful girl. However, he was also pleased that his studies would be removing him from her vicinity in the near future, since guiding his young brother through the anguished highs and lows of calf love was not a prospect that filled Sir Rowland with joy.
Tom recovered his composure enough to make his bow, and if his cheeks were a little pink, then the reaction was common enough among young gentlemen encountering Madeleine Banham for her not to think it odd. He was bashful, but controlled it, neither stumbling over his words nor trying to impress too much. He observed without staring, which made Lady Roxton think him very prettily behaved, and he noticed the glance that Miss Banham gave the pianoforte in the corner of the room.
‘Do you play, Miss Banham?’ he asked.
‘I do, Mr Kempsey. I am a poor needlewoman, my fingers seem always to be being pricked, but I have put many hours into my music.’
‘Then perhaps you might essay something for us upon the instrument here. Neither I nor my brother play, all thumbs in my case, but we like music and it seems a shame that the pianoforte has become just so much a piece of furniture.’
Sir Rowland kept a straight face. He had been discussing with Tom the removal of the unused and rather unwanted pianoforte to one of the less used chambers in the east wing, and the difficulties of its dimensions, only the evening before.234
‘If you would honour us with a song, perhaps,’ he added his own entreaty, earning a grateful look from his younger brother.
Madeleine looked to her mama. She did not want to look as if pushing herself forward, but of course a young lady with her advantages never needed to do so, since eyes were drawn to her naturally. She received a small nod of approval, but prepared her ‘audience’ for errors, since she had no music. Mr Kempsey immediately drew her attention to the canterbury that was placed out of the way and beside the instrument, and invited her to see if there was anything with which she was familiar. A first glance did not look promising, since Mary Lound had dutifully worked through arpeggios and a few rather dull songs where the accompaniment had been reduced to simple chords, but just as she was about to give up Miss Banham found a piece, clearly barely touched, that she knew, and which had an accompaniment worthy of her proficiency. It was a well-known song, and she sang in a clear and melodic voice. Part way through, Mr Kempsey, very daringly, joined in with the harmony. He could not play a note, but he sang quite creditably. The combination of voices worked rather well, and at the conclusion he begged her play something else, but Miss Banham, very aware that there was nothing else worth playing in the collection, and not wishing to show off too much, lowered her eyes and refused, gently but firmly.235
Mary Lound had watched the weather all morning, aware that there lurked within her a level of excitement that was not, however much she enjoyed the activity, founded solely upon the thought of fishing in the lake in the afternoon. It was with no small degree of relief that she detected a drop in the wind, since she was sure that a novice fisherman such as Sir Rowland would be disheartened by his fly landing nowhere near where he had aimed and being unable to compensate. It was something which came with experience alone. She donned her fishing attire, took up her rod bag and basket, and set off across the park with the same sensation as she might have for some treat as a child. She was greeted by Hanford, who went to inform Sir Rowland of her arrival.
As the butler opened the door that led to the west wing of the house, Mary heard the sound of a pianoforte, and voices, singing. One was a soprano, very sweet, and the other a baritone. She caught her breath. Regardless of the fact that she had never shown any aptitude for the instrument, and it had been sold with the house, she felt as though another woman was using ‘her’ pianoforte to charm the man for whom she was forming a … liking. Even as the door closed, she heard a voice, one she believed to be Tom Kempsey’s, entreating the musician to play another song, and she heard ‘Miss Ban …’ which identified the usurper. She felt as if she could not breathe, and stood statue-still, with the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. At this very moment,236Madeleine Banham was charming him with her beauty and here she was, dressed in old clothes that, indoors especially, made her look little better than a scarecrow. She felt out of place.
Sir Rowland entered, and he was smiling, looking very happy.
‘Miss Lound. Now, I did wonder if conditions would be suitable this afternoon, but I am unable to ready myself for fishing immediately, since Lord and Lady Roxton have come to visit us. Do come through and—’
