The Elsingham Portrait

Thirteen


Young Polly Bradley, introduced into the household at Bennet Farm as abigail, sleeping on a truckle bed in one corner of Kathryn’s room, soon succumbed to a serious case of hero-worship. She was convinced that Mistress Radcliffe was the most beautiful, kindest, cleverest woman she had ever met. Poll very quickly learned, though, not to try to share her enthusiasm with Elspeth Cameron. That dour and formidable woman went about her duties with a face of stone, discouraging conversation.

Poll, wistfully hungry for knowledge, insatiably curious, had soon discovered that the lady she served had been to a college. Kathryn was the only woman she had ever heard of who had had that distinction. “But ma’am,” Poll had said, “I didn’t know them great places ever let a female in? Where was it you went?”

“It was called Radcliffe—and then I went to Columbia. Neither of them are in this country at all. They are in America.”

“One o’ them forrin places,” sighed Poll, enchanted, as she continued to sew the dress she was making for her mistress. She loved these quiet hours in the fine bedroom, working and talking with the fine lady. Her eager young mind was stretching under the stimulus of Kathryn’s conversation, as the latter was well aware. Challenged by Poll’s avid questions, she found herself discussing history and literature, quoting poetry, explaining Greek and Roman myths. She tried to force herself to remember where and when she was, and tell the child nothing which would harm or bring her into question among her contemporaries, if she should repeat it.

Kathryn was spending most of her time in her bedroom, coming down only for meals and the long walks she took for exercise. Elspeth’s face was a constant grim reminder of danger. Kathryn had no desire to arouse any further suspicions, either of witchcraft or madness. But it was hard to resist Poll’s youthful enthusiasm and admiration, so she permitted the girl to work in the room, and often read to her while she sewed, or told her stories.

“What was the name of that female creature who turned people into rocks, now, ma’am?”

“Medusa? She was one of a charming family called Gorgons. There were three sisters, and not pretty like you and your sisters. In fact, the Gorgons had serpents—live serpents—instead of hair. And they were so hideous to look at that anyone unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of them was turned into stone.”

Poll giggled. “Elspeth Cameron must have seen one of them,” she whispered. “Turned her mug to stone. I ha’n’t never seen her smile once since I come.”

“Came,” Kathryn corrected gently. Poll had asked for help “with her talk,” and the educator in Kathryn couldn’t resist the opportunity. She carefully guided the girl’s thoughts away from the subject of Elspeth. “You’ve nearly finished my dress, haven’t you? You’re so quick! And the fichu is very becoming!”

“It’s my lucky Ma thought to get a bit o’ white,” agreed Poll, easily diverted. “If you’ll forgive me, ma’am, for gettin’ personal, you’re much too young and—pretty—for all this black.”

“Flattery will get you anywhere,” teased Kathryn. “Are you bucking for a raise?”

“Bucking? A raise?” Poll was bewildered by the unfamiliar terms.

“Plotting for a bigger salary,” explained Kathryn, smiling.

Poll chuckled incredulously at this humorous idea. “You’re teasing me, ma’am! Ma says it’s way too much I’m getting now. She’s afraid it will spoil me. Of course she takes all of it to put away for my dowry, so it’s little chance I have of being spoilt by any of it!”

Kathryn laughed with her, but the words had touched a real worry of her own. The money in the reticule was almost gone. She would have to have work very soon, or let Poll go. She still had not heard from Bennet, nor, for that matter, anything about events in London or Lord John. Apparently the Bennets, as a family, were not voluminous correspondents. She decided to ask Richard this very evening about the job with the Vicar, and what had happened in London of late—oh, very casually!

They always ate all the meals in the huge, comfortable old farm kitchen. Richard at the head of the table, Elspeth taking Maggie Bennet’s place at the foot, the two unmarried men who helped Richard work the farm on one side, and Kathryn and Poll on the other. Richard had insisted that Kathryn be seated at his right. Elspeth, silent and stern-faced, was up and down serving throughout the meal, scorning offered assistance. That night, while Elspeth was clearing the table, and the young men were leaving the house for their own hut with many a shy glance at pretty Poll, Kathryn spoke to her host. She tried to keep her tone light.

“Richard, it is time I had gainful employment. Have you spoken to the absent-minded Vicar?”

He gave her his slow smile. “That I have, Mistress Radcliffe. When he heard your qualifications, ¼twas all I could do to keep him from storming the farm at once. I advised him he’d have to possess his soul in patience till your arm healed.”

Kathryn, very conscious of Elspeth’s listening ears, said quietly, “I’d like to begin to work as soon as possible. I really need the money. Can you arrange for me to meet with him tomorrow?”

“I’ll drive you over myself, tomorrow afternoon,” promised Richard. “If you’re sure you are well enough.”

*****



Driving along the green lanes behind the sedate old cob, Kathryn felt a sense of relief. It was good to be heading toward work she loved and could do, good to be getting away from Elspeth’s hostile presence. She had an idea.

“Does the Vicar have servants who live in the vicarage?”

“Yes, he has one old fellow, Newton, who cooks and looks after his clothing. The vicarage is large enough to house a half dozen, but Vicar lives plain. Oh, there’s Mrs. Latchet, from Elsinghurst Village. She comes in once a week to clean up.” Richard chuckled. “I don’t envy the poor woman. Vicar absolutely forbids her to touch a single book or paper, and she says there’s no level surface in the whole house that isn’t covered with one or the other, or both!”

Kathryn joined his laughter. “Wall-to-wall books? I’ll feel right at home. And that reminds me. It’s time I found other lodging, closer to the vicarage. No,” she halted his protest, “I can’t be taking you away from your work, letting you drive me to the vicarage every day. You know that.”

“I’d not mind,” said the big man quietly. Alarm bells rang in Kathryn’s mind. She continued firmly.

“It would be very much easier on me if I lived close to my work. Do you think—could it be arranged—that I could stay at the vicarage?”

Richard gave it careful thought. “There’s enough bedrooms, surely—most of them full of boxes of books—,” he grinned. “Of course it might cause talk.”

“I couldn’t have that.”

“Perhaps if you took Poll with you?” Richard suggested. “She’s young but she’s steady. You might be glad of her strength, too. The place is a rat’s nest—no fault of Mrs. Latchet. I’ll swear the poor woman would be glad of a pair of young arms. ¼Tis a big house, the vicarage.”

Kathryn hesitated. “How much do you think the Vicar could afford to pay me? If I asked Polly to come with me, I’d need enough to pay her, too.?”

Richard grinned. “The Reverend Archibald Percy has enough to pay a dozen of you,” he said. “The living was a gift of the old master, Lord John’s father, and carries a generous stipend. Vicar gives most of it away, when he thinks about it at all. Mrs. Latchet pays the household accounts—otherwise the tradesmen would never get anything. Vicar has his mind on other matters.”

“He seems to need an accountant as well as a librarian.”

“The good man needs a manager,” smiled Richard. “I can hardly wait till you see the inside of the vicarage.”

When they entered the lovely old house a few minutes later, Kathryn decided she had never seen such an incredible confusion. The elderly manservant, Newton, ushered them past and around and through boxes of books, not yet opened, which usurped most of the spacious front hallway. With unruffled calm he led them to a sunny library at the rear of the house.

“Farmer Bennet and a lady,” he said, and walked away.

The Reverend Archibald Percy received them with gentle courtesy, had to be reminded who Richard was, thought he’d met Kathryn before, asked her if she were his cousin Sophia from Bath, then looked again and announced with a broad smile that she couldn’t be, because he’d just recollected that Sophia was his senior by ten years, and asked them to be seated.

While they were trying to discover chairs that had no covering of books, the Vicar seated himself, beamed at them, told Kathryn she was the most beautiful human being he remembered seeing, and asked them what he could do for them.

Patiently Richard reminded him that this was Mrs. Radcliffe, the widow who needed employment, and was a qualified librarian.

The Vicar stared at her, shook his head admiringly, and quoted, “ ‘Behold, the half was not told me!’ ”

Kathryn, who had decided that she liked the gentle, aristocratic, white-haired old man very much, smiled demurely and said, “I believe that is my line, O King,” and, indicating the huge piles of leather-and-gilt bound books which filled every niche and corner of the room, she finished quoting what the Queen of Sheba had said to King Solomon, “ ‘thy wisdom and prosperity exceed the fame which I heard.’ ”

The Vicar’s gaze sharpened on her face and a slow smile of pleasure tugged at his lips. “Can I believe my ears? To our rustic hamlet have you indeed brought ‘the feast and the flow of soul’? Art thou Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom?”

Kathryn laughed. “Thank you, Father Percy, but I am neither Sheba nor Minerva. Merely Kathryn—Radcliffe of New York.” Somehow it had been hard to give the wrong name to this good old man.

The Vicar focused on her lovely face. “You not only got my reference to Solomon, but you capped it! Refreshing! Very few, I may safely say almost none, of my parishioners could have done so. Well, well, so you are to be my librarian and set my books to rights.” He pulled the bell-rope; then, without waiting for his servant to arrive, called “Newton! Newton!”

The old servant must have been waiting outside the door. He entered slowly, bearing in trembling hands a large tray, much tarnished, and three glasses and a decanter.

“Newton, I see you have brought the sherry. Very well done! But perhaps our lady guest would prefer tea. Have we any tea for Mistress Radcliffe, Newton?”

“I suppose I could make some,” said Newton dubiously.” It’s not Latchet’s day, sir.” He went slowly out of the room.

“We only have afternoon tea on the days Mrs. Latchet is with us,” explained the Vicar. “Poor old Newton! He’s got sadly set in his ways. We both have, for that matter.” He smiled at Kathryn. “It will do us good to have you with us, my dear.”

“I should like very much to stay here in your house with my abigail, if it would not be too much of an imposition,” said Kathryn, striking while the iron was hot.

“Imposition? Nonsense! It would be a blessing,” protested the Vicar. “I’m sure there is room. And you offer me the opportunity of conversing with a scholarly mind! What college was it you lectured at?”

“I am a graduate of Radcliffe College and Columbia University,” said Kathryn. “They are both in America. I have not taught, but I have worked as a librarian.”

The Vicar’s eyes opened wide. “But this is most impressive! You’ll want to get to work at once, I’m sure!” He surveyed the cluttered room lovingly. “All my dear friends! Every volume a cherished possession, Mistress Radcliffe. I know I need not warn you, a true bibliophile, to handle them gently. And not—perhaps—lose the places I have marked?” he said a little anxiously. Then, reassured by her smile, “Good! I’ll go help poor Newton with the tea. He’s a good old fellow, but sadly slow and set in his ways.”

Kathryn turned to Richard after he had left. “He is a darling,” she said softly. “I’ll enjoy putting his library in order for him. Thank you for arranging it. It is going to be all right, isn’t it? My staying here with Polly, I mean.”

Richard reassured her. “He’ll love it. You heard what he said—someone to talk to who speaks his language. And Newton won’t care one way or the other. The one you’ve got to win over is Mrs. Latchet. Why don’t I take you to her home when we’re finished tea—if we ever get it,” he concluded, smiling. “What do you wager both those old fellows have completely forgotten us?”

But that was a libel. Newton appeared, tottering under the weight of an enormous tea tray. The Vicar asked Kathryn to pour for them, and enjoyed his tea so much that Kathryn resolved she would serve him some every afternoon. They took their leave soon after tea, Kathryn promising to return the following day to begin her work.

Richard drove directly to the cottage occupied by the Latchets. That good lady was at home, and so impressed by a visit from Mr. Bennet and his guest from the Colonies that she fairly glowed with excitement. She could scarcely be prevented from giving them a second tea. When Kathryn’s new job was explained to her, Mrs. Latchet’s face lighted up.

“You, ma’am, and Polly Bradley, going to stay with Vicar? That’s the best thing I’ve heard since Christmas! Not that you’ll have any comfort! The whole house is a rat’s nest of books and papers, dust-catchers! and there’s no woman born who could bring order out of it! Still, Poll’s a well-trained girl. Her Ma’s a friend of mine, and I’ve heard how kind you’ve been to Polly, ma’am, teachin’ her and all!”

“I’ve been fortunate to have her,” said Kathryn with a seriousness which endeared her to Mrs. Latchet. “She’s a bright, well-mannered child, and an excellent seamstress. She does Mrs. Bradley credit.”

Mrs. Latchet reacted warmly to this praise of her friend’s daughter. “That she does, ma’am. Well, to think of little Poll at the Vicarage! If you’re goin’ to stay there, ma’am, I’d best get over first thing in the morning and clean out a room for you. Do you move in tomorrow?”

“Yes, and I thank you for your offer to help. I don’t know how Polly and I would have managed to settle in without you.”

Beaming broadly, Mrs. Latchet saw them to the door.

As they drove away, Richard glanced at Kathryn. “You’ve a nice way with you, Mistress Radcliffe. Mrs. Latchet will now consider herself your sponsor and ally.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t establish an equally good relationship with Miss Cameron,” said Kathryn soberly.

Richard frowned. “I can’t think what’s gotten into Elspeth. She’s always been dour, but of late she’s as threatening as a thundercloud.”

“She’ll be easier when she’s rid of me and Polly,” said Kathryn lightly. “We’ve been an extra burden.”

Richard shook his head stubbornly. “It’s more than that. She’s got a bee in her bonnet.” He frowned at Kathryn. “I’ll never understand women,” he confessed humbly. “Could she be jealous of you—Kathryn?”

The inner alarms rang wildly. Kathryn kept her voice warm and casual. “She’s done an excellent job in charge of your home, Richard. It’s unreasonable to expect that any woman so involved in running a large household could calmly accept two strangers and all the extra work that entails.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” insisted Richard. “We had Mrs. Hetherington and her child with us last year, and Elspeth wasn’t like this. I cannot understand it.”

“Well, she’s sure to feel better as soon as Polly and I are safely settled at the vicarage,” Kathryn said, and hoped very much that she was correct. Elspeth Cameron’s hostility was a tangible thing, and disturbing. If only one could confide the truth to the gentle giant beside her! But it was too dangerous. The game she was playing was for her sanity. She must remain near the Manor until Bennet could get word to her that the portrait was there. And in the meantime, Richard Bennet must be held at arm’s length—for everyone’s sake.

*****



Kathryn and Polly settled in at the vicarage with less difficulty than they had anticipated. When they arrived, Mrs. Latchet was already in the field, the Vicar had barricaded himself into his study, and Newton was in full retreat. Mrs. Latchet met them with a flushed and shining face, and sleeves rolled to the elbow.

“Come right up to your room, ma’am. Polly child, it’s a good thing you’ll be here to help! This place—!” Words apparently failed her. She had, however, accomplished a small miracle already, as Kathryn and Polly hastened to assure her. She had cleaned out a large bedroom, set up a small cot in an alcove, placed fresh linens on both the bed and the cot, washed the floor, and was busy dusting out the drawers of an old highboy.

“I haven’t much with me.” Kathryn indicated her satchel and the wrapped bundle of new dresses Polly had made her. “I came away from my home rather hastily, and had no time to pack more.”

“The Colonies,” agreed Mrs. Latchet as though she spoke of Outer Mongolia or Mars. “I’m told there’s trouble brewing there, ma’am. ¼Twas well you got away when you did. Now, Poll, you help your mistress settle in, and I’ll get on with the luncheon.”

“She used to work at the Manor,” confided Polly proudly, after Mrs. Latchet had bustled happily away. “She was upstairs maid, and got into the habits of the gentry. Luncheon at noon, and tea at four, and then dinner at all hours! As late as nine or ten at night, sometimes!”

As she prattled, she was putting Kathryn’s things in the highboy, and hanging the new dresses in the wardrobe. “There now,” she announced with satisfaction, “you’re settled, ma’am. I’ll just fetch up my own things, and get them put away.”

“And I,” said Kathryn, who had hung up Bennet’s cloak and bonnet, “will get to work!”

“You look older, ma’am,” commented Polly. “Very beautiful,” she hastened to add, “but sorrowful. I reckon it’s all the black.” For Kathryn had had the girl make a neat dark cap to go over the glowing curls and hide every sign of them. The black dress was protected by a black washable apron which Kathryn hoped would catch most of the dust.

“Well, Polly, it’s suitable attire for my job and for my station in life,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”

Downstairs, Kathryn took her time in assessing the problem. The confusion in the house, she decided, was caused by two things. No book, once taken down, was ever replaced on a shelf; there were too many books for any building which also had to serve as a dwelling. Aside from the shelf-lined study, where the Vicar had prudently locked himself in, there was a room set aside as a formal library. There were bookshelves also in the parlor, and Kathryn suspected there would be more of them in the Reverend Archibald Percy’s bedroom. Thousands of books! This was a noble holding indeed, and Kathryn’s fingers itched to get at their task. But first things first. She requested a bucket of water, soap, and cloths from Mrs. Latchet, and began to wash the painted wooden shelves. Polly came at once to help, and by lunch time they had every shelf in the library and parlor clean. The confusion of heaped books was hideous, but Kathryn surveyed it with some satisfaction.

“We’ll polish the shelves this afternoon, Polly, That’ll keep the dust from settling again.”

Polly agreed with all the fervor of her mother’s daughter. Mrs. Latchet came to call them to lunch and surveyed the clean shelves with approval. “That’s setting it to rights, ma’am! We’ll maybe get this place in order after all!”

The whole house was redolent of furniture wax, and the shelves in the library and parlor were shining, before Kathryn and Polly, exhausted, called it a day. Mrs. Latchet announced that dinner would be served in an hour, and that the Vicar had requested the pleasure of Mistress Radcliffe’s company at his board. Polly helped Kathryn wash, and took their dusty aprons with her to the kitchen. She was to have her meal there with Latchet and Newton.

Kathryn, whose whole arm and shoulder were one agonizing ache from the unaccustomed labor, was of two minds about going down to dinner. She looked longingly at the bed, so inviting with the crisp white sheets neatly turned back by Polly. Then she sighed. The Vicar obviously anticipated a pleasant evening, and she owed him that, at least, for the safe refuge he was giving her. She hadn’t covered her tracks too well, she thought wearily. She’d asked Polly not to mention her red hair, but everyone at the farm had seen it, and Elspeth would be sure to volunteer the fact and air all her suspicions if any enquiry were to be made. Well, I’ll just have to take my chances, Kathryn decided, and hope that no one comes looking for me. And then she wondered why she felt so depressed.

For the Vicar’s sake, she put her worries behind her at dinner. He held her chair for her in the small, charming dining room which looked out through wide windows onto the lawn at the back of the house. With really touching courtesy he had forborne bringing a book to the table, telling her that live conversation should be his treat this evening. Kathryn tried to match his courtesy gallantly.

“No, no, Vicar, I will not allow that a mere female can compete with Cicero and Vergil and Homer! Even Plato would only permit a few of them in his Republic.”

“But you are forgetting the prime motivator of all good talk, madam.” The Vicar’s eyes twinkled, and he paraphrased: “ ‘This was the face that launched a thousand ships!’ ” He bowed and raised his glass to her.

“You’ll not win me by flattery, sir,” Kathryn countered, racking her brain for a suitable rejoinder. And then she had it. “ ‘I fear the Greeks, even when bearing gifts!’ ”

The meal proceeded in a glow of mutual pleasure. Kathryn found her exhaustion giving way under the blandishments of good wine and food. Since arriving in this time, she had never felt so much at ease, so truly happy. The challenge, when it came, was therefore the more devastating.

“My dear,” said the Vicar gently, “I have not enjoyed such a dinner since I left the Commons at Magdalen College. But you have had an exhausting day, and I must let you retire to your room. May I say two things before you go?”

“Of course!” Kathryn smiled at him in the candle-glow.

“My house is blessed by the presence of such erudition and beauty combined—Venus and Minerva.”

Kathryn found herself unable to answer.

“But my dear child,” the Vicar went on gently, “there is no college in North America which admits both men and women. Who are you? If you are in trouble I shall count myself honored to be permitted to help you.”

Kathryn stared at him, the blood leaving her cheeks. He brought her a glass of sherry, forced her to sip it, begged her pardon, castigated himself for a foolish old man. “My dear, forgive me. I did not mean to cause you pain.”

“I shall tell you my story . . . but you will think me either mad—or—” She couldn’t say it to this kind old man.

“Not mad,” he said gently. “Never that.”

“Or possessed of a devil!”

He came to her, took her hand, stared long into her eyes. She met his searching stare bravely until her own eyes watered and the tears flowed down her cheeks.

“Poor child,” the old man said. “Who has hurt you so?” And he kissed her forehead gently. “Now tell me what is wrong.”