Mr. Pibsbury had been given one of the larger tenant houses on the east side of the estate, an easy walk from the manor. As Monday was a day of spectacular sunshine—rare in this part of Somerset in the spring—Lydia left just after luncheon on her own two feet. She was pleased to note that all shadows were appropriate in size and shape to their source and that her sense of being observed had dissipated.
She found Mr. Pibsbury working in his garden, which was still more mud than soil. They spent a good half hour chatting, reminiscing, and generally having a convivial time. The subject of tea and pineapples was quickly laughed away—so quickly, in fact, that Lydia came away with no new information but a stronger resolve to see Mr. Drury tossed out on his ear.
She was on her way back to Roseberry Hall when she heard a carriage approaching. Squinting into the sun, Lydia realized it was more of a cart than a carriage and then soon after recognized the shape of Reverend Caudle—he wore a distinctive hat, with a shallow crown—and a passenger. The cart slowed and pulled aside.
“Miss Whitfield, well met, well met. I hope you are well on this fine day. Out and about, are you, out and about? Oh, you remember my daughter, Mavis.”
Lydia smiled and inclined her head. She was about to begin the usual banal conversation with inquiries into the health of the family and discussion of the weather and then move on, but she was not given the chance.
“Hope you don’t mind us using your road, Miss Whitfield. Wilder Hill has the most atrocious drive—covered in mud. All those dips and hills. Thought we might approach from your side of things.”
Again, Lydia was about to speak—generously giving the pair leave to do just what they were doing—but the good Reverend continued.
“Off to see Lord Aldershot. We have so much to discuss, fish and fowl, yes, fish and fowl.”
“Thank you for including us in your birthday celebration, Miss Whitfield.” Mavis Caudle interrupted her father with a hand placed lightly on his arm. Her voice was soothing and calmed her father’s twittering.
It also brought Lydia’s attention to her, which previously had amounted to a glance. Lydia was surprised to note that Miss Caudle was a pretty girl, not in that insipid vacuous way that seemed to attract the gentlemen, but with character in her countenance and intelligence in her eyes. It was a pleasant discovery, for Lydia had been hobbling through Spelding without any sort of clever conversation for years until Cora arrived. And now, it would seem, another active mind was about to enter their midst.
“You are most welcome. The proper invitations should be in the post within the next fortnight … or so. But I am glad that Lord Aldershot heralded its arrival.”
“Yes, I believe he understood dearest Mama’s excitement. We have not been to a ball since Christmas.”
“Christmas. Well, that is not so long, then.”
“No, our dancing shoes have barely gone cold.” Miss Caudle smiled. They both knew that “dearest Mama” was trying to establish her social position and importance within the community. Being friendly with Lord Aldershot, and now the Whitfields, would take her up several rungs of the ladder.
“Well, I hope it to be a pleasant affair. Not too much of a crush.”
Miss Caudle nodded, opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again.
“Yes?” Lydia encouraged.
Wisely choosing not to play ignorant, Miss Caudle smiled—broadly, as if caught in a mischievous act. “I know this is most inappropriate … but…”
“Yes.”
“I was hoping to … well, the library at the rectory is quite small.… And I have gone through the complete collection already.”
“More than once,” Reverend Caudle interjected.
“Indeed.” Miss Caudle turned her smile briefly toward her father. “And I have heard that the library at Roseberry Hall, your study, is exemplary and vast.”
“That might be overstating it a little, but yes, it is a very good library. And yes, you are more than welcome to visit us with the intent to borrow a book or two.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Whitfield. You are most generous.”
“Not at all. Might I recommend week’s end. Perhaps Saturday the twenty-second?”
“That would be lovely.”
Reverend Caudle foreshadowed his next words by lifting the reins. “Excellent, excellent. Now that that’s settled, we must away. Well met, Miss Whitfield. I’ll bring Mavis, here, over on Saturday.”
“Or I can walk up on my own.” It was Miss Caudle’s turn to interject.
Lydia smiled and quickly agreed to the latter. Without saying so, she planned to include tea and a chat with Miss Caudle’s visit to the Roseberry library. The idea of getting to know her better and perhaps even forming a friendship was very pleasant. Perhaps Cora could join them—a distraction from her melancholy.
Indeed, a productive afternoon.
*
“Tessa, where is your sister?” Lydia stood in the great hall with her bonnet fastened and her gloves on. It was now approaching eleven, and Lydia’s temper was building into a grand passion.
It had been agreed the previous evening that the party would set off for Bath at ten in the morning. It was the earliest that the ladies could be persuaded to leave. Even at that, luncheon would have to be a hasty affair if the appointed hour at the law firm was to be met. With each passing minute, the likelihood of a late arrival became more and more evident even without a stop for sustenance.
It was irresponsible, intolerable, inconsiderate, and just plain rude.
“I don’t know where she is.” Tessa had joined Lydia in the hall without the requisite family at her side a full quarter hour ago. “I’ll go see.”
“No … no, Tessa, just…” Lydia’s protest went unheeded as her cousin lifted her skirts and skipped back up the stairs.
A few moments later, Tessa’s disembodied voice echoed through the hall. “Ellie, why are you changing your gown?”
Lydia sucked in a noisy gasp and looked daggers at the offending staircase that had not produced the ladies. She turned to Cora, who was seated on the narrow chair beneath the hall balcony, waiting with patience—far more patience than Lydia could muster.
“Hugh,” she said in a calm voice that deceived no one. “Might you ask Betty to check on the preparedness of my mother and sister?”
Hugh, who had been standing silently by the door waiting to see them away, nodded and headed toward the back of the house. While it seemed like an hour to Lydia, Hugh returned fairly quickly with his unwelcome news.
“Another half hour!” Lydia didn’t even try to tamp down the volume of her protest. “That is not acceptable. It will not do. Let’s go ahead, Cora. Frustration is making me fret—a condition, as you know, that I—”
“Abhor. Yes, I do know.” She stood and joined Lydia in the center of the hall. “There is no need for you to wait. It is your appointment and your schedule that should be met. Not to worry, I will explain.”