“Yes.” Nkiruka gave a decisive nod. “A doctor. And better food.”
“Of course.” And clothes for the baby, and any other comfort Jane could provide besides. Lord Verbury had much to atone for, and if he would not, then Jane would undertake that herself.
Eleven
Tea and Conversation
Jane had intended to get Amey a doctor on Wednesday, but Frank informed her that the doctor would not be able to attend until Thursday. Jane thanked him. Before she had time to wonder if she should start her day with work on her book or on inquiries into better clothing for the slaves, her decision was made for her by the arrival of a note from Mrs. Pridmore inviting her to take tea. It was more than a bit presumptuous of Mrs. Pridmore to invite her husband’s employer’s wife to tea. More properly, such an invitation should come from Jane, if it were to come at all. Still, this was not England, and she had seen enough of Mrs. Pridmore to know that she was both lonely and more than a little silly. Besides which, more than one policy in Parliament had been settled by tea between the wives of peers. If Vincent could not find accord with Mr. Pridmore, perhaps she could do so with his wife.
With a sigh heavier than such an invitation perhaps merited, Jane altered her plans and sent a note back to accept “with delight.”
Fortunately, she had put on her long stays that morning with Vincent’s help. The stays were not, strictly speaking, comfortable, but the long bones to her hips and the stiff busk down the front smoothed her form. She was grateful that the Pridmores’ cottage stood not more than a quarter mile away.
It was, as promised, a charming cottage with a good prospect overlooking the fields. It had broad stone stairs leading up to a deep porch by the front entrance. Jasmine vines had been trained to run up the support pillars and lend their verdant growth to the little house’s sense of invitingness.
As Jane arrived, under Louisa’s perpetual parasol, Mrs. Pridmore came out to meet her with a little squeal. “Oh! I am so glad you were able to come. Cook has made cake for us, is that not lovely? I sent the invitation because we had just received a delivery of tea that Mr. Pridmore ordered all the way from China, because he knows how much I miss dear London. Is he not considerate? I hope that you are as fortunate with Mr. Hamilton, and I am certain that you must be.” She took Jane’s arm as they went up the stairs. “Truly, I have not seen a man who cut such a dashing figure since I was last in London. You must tell me how you attached him. I adore love matches, and all the details of them. Have you read Mrs. Radcliffe’s books? Oh, she is a wonder at recording the details of true love.”
Jane was certain that Mrs. Pridmore must draw a breath at some point, but she had not yet seemed to require air. She cast one glance backwards at Louisa, who could not quite manage to cover a smile as she followed them inside. The front door opened directly into a broad hall, which also served as the parlour.
“Ladies! Mrs. Hamilton has joined us. Is that not wonderful?” She paused, which seemed to take everyone by surprise.
In the room were four women. One of them was white. For a moment, that was all Jane could notice about her. In the five days since their arrival, she had become so used to all the shades of brown that the putty-coloured skin startled her. Jane bent in a curtsy, out of preservation as much as habit.
Two of the women rose and returned the courtesy. The other two remained against the walls, gazes cast down in the obvious attitude of servants.
“Mrs. Hamilton, may I present Mrs. Ransford from Sarah’s Hope—” This was the white woman, an older lady whose translucence seemed a relapse to some elfin ancestor. “And Mrs. Whitten from Weatherill.” The latter was a mulatto woman of not more than middle height, well made and with an air of healthy vigour. Her skin was very brown but clear, smooth, and glowing with beauty, which, with a lively eye, a sweet smile, and an open countenance, gave beauty to attract, and expression to make that beauty improve on acquaintance. “Her father is Lord Calcott, and she is married to Mr. Whitten, from a very respectable old Antigua family that has owned an estate here longer even than the Hamiltons. Their property borders yours to the west.”
Jane could not help but note that Mrs. Pridmore felt the need to give Mrs. Whitten’s particulars but not Mrs. Ransford’s.
Mrs. Whitten inclined her head gracefully to Jane. “Indeed, we would not be above two miles away, but for a ravine between our properties. As it is, I am afraid that it requires going down to the base of Green Hill and then back up again, so it feels as though there are two properties between us. Still, with a carriage the trip is a trifle. You must come to visit.”