“I should be delighted.”
In short order, the assembled ladies worked through the ordinary pleasantries, establishing that it was uncommonly hot for this time of year, that they were thankful that they had coldmongers on staff who could use glamour to make the air cooler, and then moving on to admiration of the newly arrived chest of tea. Nothing was so cooling, was the general consensus, as a cup of strong tea on a hot day. Jane found herself seated on a sofa with Mrs. Ransford, who seemed to have never ventured into the sun.
“And how are you finding Antigua then, Mrs. Hamilton?” The pale woman had the remnants of a Scottish brogue. She set her cup of tea down in its saucer and turned her pale blue eyes upon Jane with the interest one might give to a stuffed bird.
“We have only been here since Friday evening, so not quite five days. I have seen little beyond the estate, but the landscape quite astonishes me. The southernmost clime that I have visited was Venice, and it is not a city known for its trees.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Venice?” Mrs. Pridmore bounced up a little in her seat. “Oh! I should adore going to Venice. I have read all of Lord Byron’s poems and have dreamt of going ever since then.” She set her cup down on the table and, pressing her hands to her bosom, began to declaim.
“In Venice Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless Gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And Music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone—but Beauty still is here.”
With a little sigh, she wrinkled her nose and relaxed her posture. “I sometimes feel that I must remind myself that even though ‘those days are gone,’ so far from England, ‘Beauty is still here,’ and I suppose that is why those lines particularly called to me. The songless Gondolier is so moving, do you not think?”
Mrs. Whitten studied the tea in her cup. “I remember when you recited that at our amateur theatricals. I was most struck by the lines, ‘Existence may be borne, and the deep root, Of life and sufferance make its firm abode, In bare and desolated bosoms…’
“There! See how delightful he is? Such wonderful metre. Oh, I do so adore Lord Byron’s work. If I should ever have half the ability I should count myself well satisfied. Are you familiar with his work, Mrs. Hamilton?”
It would be for the best not to mention that Jane was acquainted with the poet himself, or she should likely never hear the end of questions. “Indeed. And are you a poetess yourself?”
“Oh. Oh, no.” Mrs. Pridmore looked down with a flush to her cheeks. It was the shortest speech Jane had yet heard from her.
“Do not let her be timid, dear…” Mrs. Ransford shook her finger in admonition. “She published a little album of verses last year that was well received.”
“Oh—oh, but that was only for our charity. Truly, I hope I am not so foolish as to claim more ability than I possess.” She picked up the teapot. “More tea? Do say yes, it is so nice to have ladies with whom I can share such a treat.”
Mrs. Pridmore seemed genuinely embarrassed by the attention, and her modesty made Jane like her more than she had before. It did not seem a scheme for attention, but a genuine doubt of her own talents. Jane said, “I should like to read one of your poems.”
“Oh, bless me, no. Thank you, that is very generous, but it was only for charity that I allowed them to be published at all. Are you sure you will not take more tea? It really is lovely, and has come all the way from China.”
Mrs. Ransford turned on the sofa by Jane’s side to face her more fully. “Which reminds me … you and your husband must come to our charity ball in July.”
Jane planned to be long departed from Antigua by then, but with Louisa in the room, to say nothing of Mrs. Pridmore, she simply smiled. “I should be delighted and will do my best to persuade Mr. Hamilton as well. What is the charity for?”
“The Moravian school. Dr. Hartnell has started a school for the poor youth in Antigua, and has spoken with such eloquence of their plight that the ladies of Antigua threw a ball the last two years to raise funds to help purchase books. It was such a grand success that we plan to do it again this summer.” Her pale face warmed with enthusiasm as she spoke. “Mrs. Whitten’s home has the loveliest of ballrooms, and she has been so gracious as to let us use it.”
“It is fortunate that my husband’s grandmother loved to dance.” Mrs. Whitten leaned forward in her chair. “Now … I know this is terribly forward, but I hope you will appreciate that I am asking because it is a worthy cause.”
No doubt they wanted Jane and Vincent to buy a ticket to the ball and perhaps fund the printing of another poetry book by Mrs. Pridmore. “You have piqued my curiosity.”