Further Suits

30

Further Suits

    Mouse was spending more and more of her time with Mr Baldaya and hadn’t come over to Waddington-on-Sea at all this week; in fact today she, Ma and Mr Waters had been invited to spend the day seeing his farm. Rita hadn’t turned up, either; Little Joe drooped on his counter, telling himself glumly for the thousandth time that he must tell her to give it up, the thing could go nowhere. Never mind if her brother was courting Mouse: a girl married into a man’s family, not t’other way round. When the shop door tinkled he looked up with a start.

    It was a thin, dark-faced man in his mid-years. Little Joe of course knew everyone for miles around: he looked at him in some surprise. Well, perhaps he’d come over from Brighton? Though there was an expanding jobbing printer’s there that was not only grabbing most of the local custom, it had expanded into selling stationery retail as well and was doing very well at that. Apparently everyone desired writing and wrapping papers, these days, and Hanson & Hanson would even supply the pens and ink, too.

    “’Morning, sir. Can I help you?” he said with an effort at cheer.

    “Good morning. I think you must be Mr Joseph Formby? Yes,” he said as Little Joe nodded. “I’m very pleased to meet you at last, Mr Formby. I’m Stamforth.”

    Oh, God. Come to warn him off his sister-in-law, no doubt. Little Joe went very red and said quickly: “My Lord, I can understand your motives, but let me assure you there’s no need. I know my place, and never mind her Ladyship’s brother’s interested in our Mouse, I wouldn’t dream of presuming. I shan’t bother Miss Baldaya, in fact I was planning to ask her to stop visiting.”

    “I see. Those would be the motives of most men in my position, I admit.”

    “Yes,” said Little Joe feebly.

    “I am here about Amrita, but that isn’t it. I have spoken to her very seriously and she assures me that you are the man she wants.”

    Little Joe had gone redder than ever. He stared at him helplessly.

    “Perhaps we might sit down?”

    Jumping, the young man replied: “Yes, of course. I beg your pardon, your Lordship. Come on through—I’ll turf old Biddle out,” he added distractedly.

    Lord Stamforth followed him quietly, raising no objections when the elderly printer sitting stitching papers was told with a jerk of the young man’s head to give them some space.

    “Please sit down, Mr Formby,” he said when it dawned that the young man, having shown him to a seat, was just standing there.

    “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand, my Lord; get it over with,” he replied bleakly, sticking out his square chin.

    Lord Stamforth looked thoughtfully at the chin. “Mm. But there’s a very great deal more to it than you imagine, so please sit down.”

    Swallowing, Little Joe sat down opposite him.

    Lord Stamforth produced a sheaf of papers from inside his coat. “This is some more of Nan’s and Richard’s manuscript.”

    “Thank you,” said Little Joe numbly, laying it aside.

    “Have you read the other chapters yet?”

    “Uh—yes, we all have. Fascinating. Old Biddle’s started setting it up already. We can print the first gatherings, you see, as it’s to be a substantial book. Uh—sorry, my Lord, not relevant,” he ended, flushing.

    “In a way it is relevant,” replied his Lordship calmly. “I know that Richard has told you part of the true story, which they are tactfully leaving out of the book. He could not tell it all, as it is not his to tell.”

    “Um, he told me that his mother ran off with Baldaya. My Lord,” said the young man, going very red again but looking him firmly in the eye: “it don’t matter to us if they weren’t legally married, and no-one in our family’ll breathe a word of it, I can promise you. Mouse won’t be shocked or upset, but if you and Richard would rather I told her, I will.”

    “No, it isn’t that, Mr Formby, though I’m glad to hear you say so. He married Nancy—that was her name—practically at her lying-in with Nan, but all his children are legitimate.”

    “Oh, well, that’s good, but as I say, it don’t make any difference.”

    “No, not to me, personally, either; though as the head of the Vanes, I’m afraid it would have had to,” he said with a grimace.

    “Aye, you’ve got a position to keep up,” said Little Joe seriously.

    “Not that, so much,” he said, looking wry. “I suppose you could call it the honour of the family or some such.”

    Little Joe just nodded.

    “What I am about to say is in the strictest confidence, Mr Formby. Pray forgive my saying so: you’ll understand when you hear what it is.”

    “I see. Just excuse me a minute, my Lord.” He got up and went over to the door through which the old man had vanished. The noise of which his Lordship had been vaguely aware all the time increased. “OY! OY! Shut ’er down!” he shouted.

    After a moment the noise ceased. “You, Ronny: get out the back and give Old Horse a good currycombing, his coat’s a disgrace, and don’t come back till I tell you! Go on, scarper!” There came the sound of another door opening and shutting. “Come here, Tom. I want you to go up the pastrycook’s. Listen up good. Buy six sticky buns and five jam tarts, got it?”

    “Six sticky buns and five jam tarts, Little Joe, I got it!” replied a loud, cheerful and distinctly unintelligent voice.

    “Right. Here’s the money. When you’ve got ’em, you can eat one bun, got that? And bring the rest back.”

    “Eat one bun!” he agreed, very cheerfully indeed. “Aye, I got it, Little Joe.”

    “Right. Come on, then, good lad.” A large, shambling figure in grimy, inky clothes was steered through the room and dispatched through the shop. “He can count up to six, but anyway, it won’t matter if he eats the lot,” said Little Joe informatively to his Lordship. “Come on through, Mr Biddle. This gentleman wants a private word, so could you keep an eye on the shop?”

    Touching his forelock politely to the visitor, the old man agreed: “Right you are.” And went through to the shop, firmly closing the door behind him.

    “He won’t lay his ear to the door, I’d stake my life on it,” said Little Joe firmly to his Lordship.

    Nodding, Lord Stamforth said: “Sit down again, Mr Formby. Let me see… I won’t disguise from you,” he said with a grimace, “that this is one of the most awkward speeches I’ve ever had to make. The sort of thing one mulls over a thousand times in one’s mind. I’m still not sure where to start. Well, with damned Nancy Jeffreys, I suppose—Nan’s mother. I knew her slightly, as a very young man,” he said with a tiny sigh. “Very, very pretty, and the greatest flirt in the county. I was a prim young man, stuffed full of principles, and I found her entirely shocking. And my instincts were later proven not to have been wrong,” he added wryly. “The first fugue of course was with the Senhor Baldaya—I think there’s no doubt he was a charming scoundrel. I’ve met an elderly distant cousin of Nan’s, and he had that sort of charm, too. However, Baldaya seems to have found his niche in trade—possibly aided by the fact that he wasn’t a very scrupulous man,” he noted with a little shrug. “None of the children remembers him clearly enough to be able to say, but reading between the lines, I’ve always had the feeling that his two business partners tactfully refrained from blackguarding him to the children. Well, let’s just say that he and damned Nancy thoroughly deserved each other, mm? Their elopement of course isn’t mentioned in Nan’s and Richard’s manuscript, nor her second fugue with a local rajah—princeling.”

    “Yes, Richard told me about that,” said Little Joe steadily.

    His Lordship took a deep breath and felt inside his coat again, producing another sheet of manuscript. “This is the first draft of the description of the elephants’ arrival at the children’s Uncle John’s house, which you have in the chapter on the merchants of Portuguese India. ‘The day the elephants came was one of the most exciting in our lives. Dicky baba was the first to spot them and hung out of an upstairs window screeching: ‘Elephants! Look! Private elephants!’ Immediately Nanni baba, Daphne baba and the chota senhor rushed to join him. What a sight was then unrolled before our dazed eyes! Three painted, private elephants, their harnesses glittering with gold and precious stones, the bright silken, plumed turbans of the mahouts and train of bearers gleaming in the sun, and the curtained howdahs on their backs shining like miniature palaces of the very Queen of Sheba herself!’ –How does it strike you?”

    “Um, I thought your brother-in-law said… Well, I don’t recall the Queen of Sheba bit. It does all sound a bit exaggerated.”

    “It isn’t exaggerated: both Nan and Richard have very literal minds,” he said grimly.

    “Oh,” said Little Joe blankly.

    “I’m sorry,” said Stamforth feebly, running his hand through his thin, iron-grey hair. “I didn’t mean to be obscure. Anyone who knows India would almost immediately realise that this is the description of a rajah’s or maharajah’s elephants. A private person don’t bedeck his elephant with gold and precious stones. And his mahout is lucky to be able to afford a plain cotton turban. These elephants were sent by the rajah—the Indian prince—with whom Nancy absconded.”

    “I see,” said Little Joe in a puzzled voice.

    “This is a description of the first time the elephants came, which was about six years after the woman ran away. There are four years between Richard and Amrita,” said his Lordship expressionlessly.

    After a blank moment Little Joe said: “No, hang on, sir—”

    “Yes,” he said flatly. “Amrita is Nancy Baldaya’s daughter but she is not Senhor Baldaya’s child. The rajah was her father. The family thinks Nancy persuaded him to let her go: she’d given him several sons as well by then, and of course he had children by his official wives, he didn’t need a little half-English girl. Rani Ayah came with her; she knows the whole story.”

    “I see,” said Little Joe in a shaken voice.

    Lord Stamforth just waited, a grim look round his mouth.

    “But—but the man never let her mother go?” he croaked.

    Lewis Vane had not expected this reaction at all, though he thought he’d told over in his mind every possible reaction the young man might have. He ran his hand through his hair again. “Uh—no. You have not seized the essence of Nancy Jeffreys Baldaya, Mr Formby. She went willingly with Baldaya, she went willingly with the rajah, and Rani Ayah’s last report of her was as very fat and happy. A report which, let me assure you, though the fat part was a surprise, no-one who knew her saw any reason to doubt,” he ended grimly.

    “Hell,” said Little Joe numbly.

    “Mm, that was pretty much my reaction when I got the lot out of Nan,” he said grimly. “Amrita’s parentage was of course known in Portuguese India: yet another reason for leaving. They were all very young when John Edwards died: Nan herself was scarce twenty; but they talked it over amongst the five of them and decided that as Amrita is no darker than many Portuguese girls, they would never tell a soul that she is not in truth a Baldaya. And they’ve kept their word, I might add: Nan would never have told me. I only managed to force her to admit it because I had guessed the whole. Well, they are all chatterboxes,” he said as the younger man looked at him in surprise, “and various details and dates, particularly those pertaining to the elephants, just didn’t add up. –I think I should warn you that Miss Gump has no knowledge of the story, by the by.”

    Little Joe winced. “No. Good. And Miss Benedict?”

    “No. No-one but Nancy’s five children, Rani Ayah and Sita Ayah. Well, I think Nan’s Indian footmen may know: they were John Edwards’s men; but as all of them would immolate themselves for the family, no-one will ever hear the story from them. There is one other man in England who knows: your cousin, Johnny Formby. As he insisted on making an offer for Amrita, I had to tell him. I did not, as his family has assumed, reject his offer. I told him of her parentage and gave him the chance to withdraw the offer, and he did so.”

    “By God!” choked Little Joe. “The worthless little rat!”

    “Quite,” said Lewis Vane coolly.

    After quite some time Little Joe managed to say: “Well, at least he ain’t gossiped about it.”

    “No, one must give him that. Though he knows I would shoot him like a dog an he did,” he said dispassionately.

    “Aye, well, that’s a point. Though I can assure you you wouldn’t need to, for I’d have wrung his neck myself!”

    “Glad to hear it. In that case, don’t you think you’d better make an offer for her?” he returned coolly.

    Little Joe went very, very red. “Sir, that ain’t funny! She is still your sister-in-law. And if you’ve decided a gent won’t never look at her and a working man will have to do, let me tell you it’s an insult to the young lady!”

    Stamforth smiled wryly at him. “Thought you’d say that. Didn’t know whether I more hoped or feared you would. It’s true that the world would say that we had best fall back upon a working man for her, yes.”

    “Damn the world!” said Little Joe Formby forcefully.

    “I entirely agree. I’m hoping to fall back on a decent man, his walk of life immaterial, for whom she can truly care, and who will love her for the sweet, brave and loving little person she is, and not care about her parentage. But on present showing it don’t look as if any member of the so-called gentry will fill the rôle, do it?”

    “You can’t condemn ’em all because of damned Johnny,” said Little Joe in a stifled voice.

    “On the contrary, I think it would be deceiving ourselves to hope that his attitude is anything but typical of his class. In our family we’ve all had a great deal of experience of the Englishman’s attitude to the dago,” he said with immense distaste, “and when it comes to a person who is a blackamoor, or partly so, it’s even worse, isn’t it? When Nan’s poor footmen first showed their faces in our local village, half the damned peasantry made gestures warding off the Evil One.”

    “Sir, that’s only ignorance,” he said in a stifled voice.

    His Lordship got up and put a kind hand on the printer’s solid shoulder. “No, it’s ignorance plus prejudice. The latter don’t dissipate with the former, we have found. If you can truly care for Amrita in spite of her birth, we would welcome you into our family, Mr Formby.”

    “My Lord, her birth don’t matter a groat to me,” he burst out, very flushed, “but that ain't my point!”

    “No, I know, but it is mine. She is willing to come to you in your present circumstances, but if you should be thinking of a change, we are looking for a capable man who could eventually take over from Major-General Cadwallader, who is the overseer at the castle. The building takes an huge amount of upkeep, and then, in the warmer months there are streams of visitors—all that sort of thing. Nan did speak of the possibility to Mrs Yates a while back, but she felt it was too soon after your father’s death to suggest a change. But do discuss it with her, by all means. And please feel free to speak of Amrita’s parentage with any member of your family whom you feel should know.”

    The young man gaped at him.

    “Think it all over: there is no hurry. But please be assured that you are the man she wants,” he said calmly, picking up his hat. “I’ll be at the castle for the next several months: just call any time.” He nodded nicely and went out.

    Little Joe sat there numbly, his brain whirling and his heart hammering furiously.

    “Ah,” said Mr Rattle thoughtfully, scratching his bulbous nose. “It’d be a big change for you, Mr Joe, and no mistake.”

    “Yes,” he agreed flatly. In the end, he’d fallen back upon old Rattle for advice. He had no intention of revealing Rita’s parentage to him or anyone else, but the old sailor had plenty of common sense and if he thought a change from jobbing printer to assistant castle overseer would be daft, then maybe he shouldn’t consider it. It or the entire idea of marrying Rita. There were other gentlemen to whom he might well have spoken on this matter, ranging from his new stepfather through Cousin John Formby to Charles Quarmby-Vine, but he had a strong feeling that as all three of them were living as gents, whatever their origins, they’d be all for the notion. And John-John would probably say cheerfully that he’d better choose whatever would make Rita happy, and remind him that he always had been interested in historical things and in fact had once dragged him and a small Captain Cutlass along on an illicit expedition to the castle itself. During which Little Joe had taken the part of Robin Hood, John-John had of course had to be Little John, and Captain Cutlass had refused very loudly to be Maid Marion. So as the purpose of the expedition was to rescue King Richard the Lion-Heart they’d let her choose between being him and the Sheriff of Nottingham who was holding him in durance vile, and as she’d opted for the villain, had duly captured her and tied her up to await a very horrid fate. The King had therefore been purely imaginary, but they’d rescued him anyway.

    Mr Rattle was thinking it over. “Like, live up to the castle?”

    “Um, not sure. The old fellow does. You might have seen him: a military-looking older man, very stiff. Limps a bit.”

    “Right: got a gammy leg. You’d be near to yer ma, and to liddle Mouse, if she takes the brother.”

    “Mm.”

    “Ah. Like when the front bit was a-gonna fall down and they ’ad the scaffolding up and that Tim Trickett, ’e said if work didn’t pick up ’ere ’e’d go and ask if they needed an extra ’and, that was ’im as was in charge of the men, then?”

    “Must’ve been.”

    “Right. I ain’t saying as a good stonemason don’t know ’is trade, but a castle ain’t no ordinary wall, like as it might be, a wall,” said Mr Rattle seriously.

    “No, you’d have to know what it was supposed to look like. Um, read up the old books, I suppose.”

    “Ah. You’d like that, Mr Joe!” he encouraged him. “Always been a reader, since you was a little lad!”

    “Mm, that’s true. The castle’s library must be fascinating. And from what Miss Baldaya and Miss Benedict have said, it seems to fall within the castle overseer’s responsibilities, too, And the Perpendicular hall and the lovely little chapel. Um, New Hall, Rattle.”

    “Right. Big, it be.” The old sailor sought for a better word. “Lofty.”

    “I’ll say!”

    “Fancy winders, too. Like a church.”

    “Aye, stained glass. Well, it’d be interesting, all right.”

    “That’s right, Mr Joe. More interesting than making up books and printing them leaflets and cards, I’d say, not that I know the trade.”

    “Mm.” He chewed on his lip. “I don’t like to abandon Mr Biddle, though. He’s worked for Formbys’ all his life. And much as I’d like to give him a pension there isn’t the money to allow him much.”

    “Your Pa left him a sum, though, eh?”

    “Yes, but not a very large sum.”

    “Right. Tell you what, ’e could ’elp look to the books at the Castle!” he said brightly.

    “Uh—well, that’s an idea. I thought that something might be found for Tom and Ronny—well, John-John would take Tom, he could help around the farm, he’ll do any heavy job if you show him how. Ronny’s a bit of a lad, though; he needs supervision.”

    “Ah. The shock of you shutting up shop might do ’im good: knock a bit of sense into ’im. And ’e’s only a young lad: there’s work for them as’ll put their backs into it. I wouldn’t worry none about ’im.”

    “No,” said Little Joe gratefully. “I won’t.”

    “Ah.” The old sailor sucked on his pipe. After some time he said: “Talked to Mrs Yates, yet?”

    “No, I haven’t mentioned it to the family at all, yet.”

    “Ah. Been down in the dumps, she ’as.”

    “Aunty Lash? I—I hadn’t noticed. Damn, this’ll mean more changes for her.”

    “Aye, but if you and Miss Rita was to live up to the castle she could stay on in the ’ouse, eh? ’Er and the old folks.”

    Little Joe was pretty sure the old sailor was about Nunky Ben’s age himself. He smiled just a little. “Yes, of course.”

    “Ah.” Mr Rattle sucked on his pipe, squinted at the sky a bit, sucked on the pipe a bit more, squinted at the sky again and finally offered: “Time’s getting on.”

    “Mm. –Oh!” Little Joe stood up, smiling. “Fancy a pint, Rattle?”

    The old sailor got up with alacrity. “Since yer asking, I won’t say No, Mr Joe!”

    Once the first pints had rinsed their gullets and a tot of rum had been proposed and accepted he said airily: “So, shall us drink to ’er, and another wedding in the Formby family?”

    Grinning, Little Joe replied: “I’ve got to ask her, yet! But yes, just between you and me, Rattle, let’s!”

    Solemnly the old sailor raised his glass. “Mr Joe’s Miss Rita, bless ’er for the pretty thing she is. And may all yer trouble be little uns!”

    Little Joe’s broad shoulders shook slightly but he agreed fervently: “To Rita, bless her!”

    “Good grief!” said Julia dazedly. “And Lord Stamforth’s letting you?”

    Little Joe was very flushed. He’d decided to break the news to the whole family at one fell swoop, since Evan Waters had asked them over to Sunday dinner at Camperdown. At this moment it didn’t seem like such a good idea after all.

    “’Course he is, Ma, I wouldn’t be telling you otherwise. He’s a very decent fellow.”

    “One of the very best,” agreed Charles Quarmby-Vine firmly. “A wholly admirable man.”

    “I like him,” agreed Lash. “But I wouldn’t have thought— I mean, a girl generally marries into a man’s family and out of her own, Little Joe.”

    “Yes. We’ve discussed it all very fully and though he ain’t as prejudiced as you seem to think, and wouldn’t mind Rita marrying into the printing business, he’s offered me an alternative. And if you’d all just shut up while I tell you about it, I’d be grateful.”

    At the conclusion of his narrative there was a dead silence.

    “He has always liked history,” offered Captain Cutlass eventually.

    “Be quiet, dear,” said Julia faintly. “Give up your father’s business, Little Joe?”

    “My heart’s not in it without Pa, Ma,” he said firmly. “And we ain’t doing as well without him, neither. ’Tisn’t the quality of the work, but the old customers came because it was him, and they don’t feel the same loyalty. There’s a place in Brighton that’s undercutting us, too. And I can’t talk to them the way Pa used to.”

    “No, he’s too cut and dried,” said Mouse unexpectedly. “Pa always used to chat, and let them tell him what they wanted at their own pace, even if it was all wrong, and then just very gently talk them round to his point of view; didn’t he, Trottie True?”

    “That’s quite right,” she agreed. “I haven’t said anything, Ma, because talking pays no toll, but I’ve noticed Little Joe isn’t doing as well as Pa used to.”

    “Mm, me, too,” admitted Lash.

    “There you are,” said Little Joe with a sigh.

    “But—but will you like looking after the castle, dear?” she said dazedly.

    “I think so, Ma. I’ve had a good talk with Major-General Cadwallader, and it’s really fascinating, as well has having a solid practical side. He thinks I should read up on engineering and architecture, too!” he added eagerly.

    “That does sound interesting,” said Philip Bredon kindly. “I’m sure the castle’s library is extensive, but I can lend you some books on architecture, if you like, and I’ve got quite a few volumes on engineering, too: did a lot of military engineering in my day.”

    “Thanks, I’d like that. Well, been reading those ones you sent us for binding, actually, Philip!” he admitted with a laugh.

    “Dry as dust algebra and geometry, Little Joe?” said Niners faintly.

    “And trigonometry! Aye. Never managed to do much at school. Well, nothing much else to do with my evenings, y’see.”

    “Since he don’t tat, knit or embroider,” noted Aunty Bouncer sardonically. “Though I dessay we could teach yer.”

    “No, thanks, Aunty,” he said feebly. “Um, what do you think?”

    Forcefully Mrs Peters replied: “I think it’s a ruddy sight better than running your Pa’s business into the ground just because you feel you oughta stick with it!”

    “Me, too!” chimed in Mrs Huggins.

    “See, Jicksy agrees with me,” said Bouncer in some relief.

    “Aye, they’re right,” admitted Mr Huggins. “Little Rita’s a pretty lass, too, and real sweet-natured!”

    “’Course she is!” agreed John-John heartily. “And the shop was never gonna be the same without Pa!”

    “No,” said Julia limply. “Well, if you’re sure, Little Joe.”

    “Yes,” he said firmly. “Very sure about all of it, Ma.”

    Evan Waters got up quickly. “Good. In that case we’ll drink to it! What would you fancy?”

    This last, of course, was a gross tactical error—or possibly, as Charles Quarmby-Vine and Philip Bredon both reflected, eyeing their new relation by marriage thoughtfully, a stroke worthy of a Wellington, for amidst the conflicting cries from the old people of “Port!”—“Rum!”—“Drop o’ brandy!” the astounding topic of Little Joe’s choice of bride and decision to give up his pa’s business was pretty much lost to sight.

    The family had enjoyed a positive feast of chestnuts the previous evening. Unfortunately Number 10 New Short Street was still full of the smell of their singeing combined with the smell of the singeing corner of Nunky Ben’s coat, so Lash got out of it early, having warned a yawning Aunty Bouncer that if Mr Baldaya should come to call—yes, again—she was not to mention the words “Bingley”, “fine as fivepence”, “fancy pantaloons”, “Creation”—at least not in the context of boots, she cared not about the theological one—“viscount” or “viscountess”. Or “Again,” thank you, Aunty! That didn’t cover it by any means but the smell became too much for her.

    She was looking dully at some greens on a market stall that appeared about as dispirited as she felt and wondering whether the household would stomach them with the addition of a judicious amount of butter, and deciding the answer was “No”, and perhaps she had better settle for turnips, which no-one much liked either, though Mrs Nunn’s did look fresh and juicy, as she had already been advised, when a growly voice said: “’Morning, Mrs Yates. ’Eard about the Commander’s accident?”

    Lash swung round with a gasp to face the burly, one-armed Mr Hartshorne. “What?”

    “Aye, whole town’s talking of it, Mrs Yates. Put the yacht on the rocks near to—”

    “Is he all right?” she gasped.

    “Well, remains to be seen, dunnit?” replied the one-armed sailor, scratching his chin with his one hand. “Took ’im ’ome on a door, they did.”

    “Then why aren’t you with him?” she cried angrily.

    “Me, ma’am? But—” Mr Hartshorne looked after her dubiously as she rushed away like a whirlwind. After a moment he said to himself: “Oh, lumme.”

    The stallholder had of course been absorbing the whole with bright-eyed interest. At this she put in: “Ah. Put yer foot in it there, Mr ’Artshorne. Poor Mrs Lash, think she must of thought yer meant your Commander, not Commander Carey from over to Guillyford Point!”

    The old sailor scratched his chin again. “Aye, so she did, Mrs Nunn.”

    “Yer better run after ’er, poor lady,” she urged. “She’ll of gorn orf to that Miss ’Enderson’s ’ouse to see if ’e’s all right.”

    “So she will,” said Mr Hartshorne thoughtfully. “So she will.”

    “Well, go on!”

    “Aye, aye,” replied Mr Hartshorne, throwing a salute, albeit with his left hand.

    This was received with the expected laughing shriek of: “Cheek!” and he moved off without haste.

    “Look, she’ll of got there if you don’t stir yer stumps,” said Mrs Nunn crossly to the ambient air as it dawned the silly man wasn’t hurrying, “and if you’re thinking that Miss Haitch’ll let them boots of yours in, you can think again!”

    Mr Hartshorne in fact was not thinking this, and by the time he reached Miss Aitch’s street there was no longer any sign of Mrs Yates. He did not knock, or even go down to the area, where there might have been some hope of his being received, depending on the mood of Miss Aitch’s cook. He just sat down on the front step, his unshaven face inscrutable, and assumed a waiting posture.

    Lash had run so fast she hadn’t had time to prepare a statement for Miss Aitch’s footman, and so just gasped as the door opened: “May I see Commander Henderson?”

    Looking down his nose, the footman replied: “Would you care to step in, Mrs Yates? I will h’ascertain if the Commander can see you.”

    Lash stepped in, reflecting grimly it was no use asking the creature how he was, because the answer was pretty sure to be “As well as can be expected”, and was shown into Miss Henderson’s pretty sitting-room. As the footman didn’t ask her to take a seat she didn’t, but as he didn’t return she began to move restlessly round the room, stopping short at the fireplace, in front of which there was a charming rug, and going very red indeed as it dawned that the watercolour over the mantel was not of any pretty young man, and must be the one which Miss Aitch was reputed to have marched into her relatives’ house and summarily removed ere his mother was scarce cold.

    “I only wish I could believe it,” she muttered sourly as it dawned that Miss Aitch had not appeared to receive her either because she preferred to ignore her or because he was so bad that she didn’t dare leave his bedside.

    “Believe what?” asked a deep voice sedately. “That the young male physiognomy is not capable of such a smirk unaided by the artist’s br—”

    “Oh!” cried Lash loudly. “I thought you were dead!” Forthwith she burst into snorting sobs.

    Commander Henderson walked over to her without haste and put his arms right round her. “No,” he said, pulling her very firmly against him, regardless of the fact that she had covered her face with her hands. “It was the other Commander, not me: Leith Carey, from Guillyford Point. And he ain’t dead; busted a leg, is all. You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”

    Lash just sobbed and sobbed.

    “I’m alive,” said Commander Henderson after a while.

    Lash just sobbed and sobbed.

    He took a deep breath, ceased hugging her to him, seized her arms and forced them down from her face. “Lavinia, stop bawling! I’m alive!” he said loudly.

    “Thought—dead!” sobbed Lash.

    “Mm. Added to which,” said the Commander drily, half to himself, “you thought I didn’t care for you, though what gave you that notion, I’m damned if I know.”

    At this Lash managed to merely sniff and gulp. After quite considerable of this she peered up at him blearily and said: “What?”

    “I love you. Will you marry me?” repeated Lucas Henderson baldly.

    “What?” she gasped, pulling sharply away from him.

    “Lavinia, you came rushing over here because you thought I was dying; don’t claim you don’t care for me!” he said loudly.

    “Who told you my name?” said Lash dazedly.

    “Mrs Dove,” replied the Commander literally. “It’s so pretty; I can’t understand why your family don’t use it. Will—you—marry—me?”

    “You don’t even like me!” said Lash madly.

    “Of course I do! But a fellow can’t propose when a woman he scarce knows has got her family’s problems on her hands and is in mourning for her brother and he ain’t got no damned house to put her in!” said Commander Henderson very loudly indeed.

    “Duh-don’t swear in your aunty’s sitting-room,” said Lash shakily.

    “I love it when you call her my aunty!” he said with a little laugh. “Well?”

    Gradually Lash went very, very red.

    Commander Henderson took her hands in his. “Well?”

    “You cannot be serious. We’ve barely exchanged half a dozen words.”

    “That wasn’t my doing. Though I admit having nothing is a bar to courtship,” he said grimly. “If that damned house of Aunt Hortensia’s had been habitable I’d have proposed a year to the day after your brother died. Or even,” he said with a little grimace, “if I hadn’t had to let John and his dear little Mary have the farmhouse.”

    Lash gulped. “You don’t—you don’t know me, Commander.”

    “I don’t know you very well, but at our ages, wouldn’t it be better to get on with it and get to know each other as we go? Er, if you were thinking I haven’t seemed keen,” he said, flushing a little, “it was because I was holding back.” He swallowed hard. “Thought if I started I might not stop.”

    “Oh,” said Lash numbly, going very, very red. “But—but there are so many… I mean, for a start, your aunty won’t like it.”

    “Rubbish! She’s been expecting it ever since James’s report of your visit with Dog Tuesday, the baskets and the greens!”

    “I merely dropped off a message!” she gasped indignantly.

    “Mm. Not you, me,” said Commander Henderson, looking very prim. “Put on me big Navy hat—James is tremendously impressed by me big Navy hat, by the by, don’t let that manner of his deceive you—and went h’orf with you, Mrs Yates, like as if you was the Queen ’erself with ’er crown on, gallant as what you never saw!”

    “He never said any such thing!”

    “Au contraire.”

    “The man looked down his nose at me this very morning!” she snapped.

    “Of course he did, silly one! He was trying not to betray his intense interest! You are not very good at reading men, are you?” said the Commander with a wry inflection in his voice.

    “Um, no,” croaked Lash. “Apparently not.”

    “So will you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

    “What if—if we don’t suit?” she faltered.

    Commander Henderson looked down thoughtfully at the very flushed face and the full lower lip that was showing a tendency to quiver. “Come here,” he said, very gently cupping the face with both hands. “Now, don't condemn a man on his first try,” he warned.

    Lash gulped. “I’m not suitable,” she produced.

    “Rubbish.” Lucas Henderson put his lips very gently on hers. After a moment during which she didn’t respond directly, though he could feel her trembling, he stepped back a little and said: “At all events, that didn’t make you decide I’m an antidote, did it?”

    “No,” said Lash faintly. “Don’t be absurd.”

    “Good. I’m about to man the tops’ls and clap on sail,” he warned.

    Lash was about to say something indignant in response to this piece of naval frivolity, but he swooped on her and kissed her very, very thoroughly. Throwing her arms fiercely round his neck, she kissed Commander Henderson very, very thoroughly back.

    The Commander stood back, panting. “You will absolutely have to marry me now, acos me maidenly sensibilities is unutterably shocked! And I'm afraid me virtue may be compromised!” he said in a silly, squeaky voice.

    “Oh!” cried Lash. “You are the most horrid jokester I ever met!”

    “I’m glad that’s dawned at last,” he admitted ruefully. “Would you mind telling me what in God’s name I did wrong the day of the watercress and the lime flowers?”

    “Um, nothing,” said Lash feebly. “You were so tall,” she added idiotically.

    “I see!” said the Commander with a little laugh. “Come here!” He kissed her gently again, then very fiercely. Mrs Yates, not to his surprise this time, responded in kind.

    “Don’t dare to say it again!” she gasped as he paused for breath.

    “Eh?” said the Commander vaguely.

    “That rubbish about virtue and—and being shocked.”

    “Wouldn’t dream of it. You still haven’t given me a reply, though.”

    “Oh,” said Lash foolishly. She took a very deep breath. “I really—”

    “Yes?” he said politely.

    Lash burst into tears again. “I can’t! I’m not—a lady!” she sobbed.

    He put his arms right round her. “Look, is it little Ned?” he said very low into her ear. “Because I do understand. A lovely young woman, tied to a dried-up old stick—”

    “No,” said Lash soggily, sniffing. “He is Mr Yates’s. He only managed it twice, and Ned was the second time.”

    Commander Henderson replied calmly: “I’m astounded he managed it as much as twice. What in God’s name possessed your family to let you marry him?”

    “Millicent,” said Lash soggily.

    “Uh—oh! Your daughter! I see, you needed an establishment for her.”

    “Mm. Michael Diver made me promise that I would give her a proper education and bring her up a lady, and I couldn’t have, if I’d accepted Joe’s and Julia’s kind invitation to live with them,” said Lash, sniffing horribly.

    “I see. Have my handkerchief, my darling.”

    “Thank you,” she said shakily, blowing her nose hard. “You see?” she said glumly.

    “Indeed I do, my dearest Lavinia!” replied the Commander with feeling.

    “Um, I don’t think you do. I mean, a lady would never have told you that.”

    “Eh? Oh, the twice! Be damned to all ladies, then! I don’t want ’em, I want you, and if you don’t take me I won’t have anyone, and then what will poor Aunt Hortensia do, with no great-nephews and nieces to cluster at her knee and inherit Wardle Heights?”

    “But she can’t want them to be mine,” croaked Lash.

    “Yes. She perfectly understands my sentiments,” he said primly.

    “You’re joking again,” she discerned resignedly.

    “Only a very little, my darling, and if you will sit properly on that sofa, I’ll trot my aunty in and she’ll tell you herself.”

    Lash took a very deep breath. “Commander Henderson, I think you have taken leave of your senses—”

    “Definitely!” he interrupted, taking her hand and kissing it softly.

    “Don’t!” she gasped, snatching it away. “Where was I? Yes: you have taken leave of your senses and—and I’m not a fit person to be your wife, but if your aunt truly doesn’t mind, I—I  suppose I cuh-could. Only I had best hear it from her, if you don’t mind!” she ended desperately.

    “I don’t mind at all. Just sit down and wait a moment,” he said, going out.

    Lash tottered over to the sofa and sank onto it. “Glory,” she muttered.

    An indefinable period passed—Lash was never able to say, later, if it had been two minutes or thirty—and then the Commander ushered Miss Aitch into the room.

    “No, pray do not get up, dear Mrs Yates,” she said graciously. “Lucas has informed me of your scruples, and they do you credit, if I may be permitted to say so. I should just like to assure you that you will be a most welcome addition to our family, should you find you can care for him.”

    “Thank you, Miss Henderson,” said Lash numbly. “Um, I can’t prove it, but Ned is Mr Yates’s.”

    The unfortunate spinster lady went very red but replied firmly enough: “So Lucas has informed me, but even had he not, my dear, I assure you there is no doubt in my mind. I have particularly remarked that ever since your first husband died leaving you with little Millicent to support you have not failed to behave with both propriety and selflessness. And over the last few trying years your support of your family has been, if I may so, wholly admirable.”

    “Thank you. But it wasn’t just me,” said Lash, flushing. “The old aunties were a tower of strength. And—and everyone was very kind and—and gave us things, without expecting any thanks. Um, cheese, and—and stuff. Hare—um, bunnies. And a brace of beautiful pigeons, that’s right. We still have no idea who that was. And—and there were some more, not long since.”

    Miss Henderson exchanged glances with her nephew.

    “Us. Both times. Shot ’em out at Wardle Heights,” he admitted. “Place is overrun with ’em. We thought that as there was a superfluity, you might use ’em. Didn’t want to bother you, so just left ’em— Don’t cry again, my dearest one! What on earth’s wrong?”

    “No-thing!” sobbed Lash. “All—this time! And I never—guessed! You—idiot!”

    Smiling very much, Lucas Henderson said to his disconcerted aunt: “It’s all right, Aunt Hortensia, she’s just overwrought. I should have taken your advice and left a little note with them. I’ll look after her, but perhaps we might have a tray of tea in say, half an hour?”

    Much relieved by this return to the mundane, his aunt agreed, assured the sobbing Lash that she quite understood, and vanished.

    “I am an idiot,” said the Commander, sitting down beside her and getting his arms round her. “I love you, though.”

    “Yuh—yes!” sobbed Lash, “Me—too! Stupid!”

    “Yes, I’ve just admitted it,” he said ruefully, removing the crushed thing on her head and leaning his cheek on her untidy mass of curls.

    “No, me,” said Lash soggily.

    “Good Lord, yes! Fancy not guessing that of all the people in Waddington-on-Sea who might shoot a brace of pigeons for you—”

    She sat up indignantly, very flushed. “Stop that at once, you—you monster!”

    “How many people do you know who own a shot-gun?” asked the Commander conversationally.

    “I— Oh.”

    “Mm. Now, seeing as how Aunt Hortensia has signalled her approval, you’d better agree to marry me.”

    Lash looked up at him doubtfully. “Truly?”

   “Mm. Truly,” said the Commander, gnawing on his lip.

    “Oh, glory, I’m doing it again: misreading you, I mean.”

    He swallowed hard. “Mm.”

    “Um, then, yes,” said Lash faintly. “Thank you. What—what are you doing?” she faltered, as he then fell to his knees and buried his face in her lap.

    “Nothing,” said the Commander indistinctly. “Began to think you wouldn’t. Couldn’t think of a way to persuade you— Oh, Hell and damnation!”

    “Don’t,” said Lash faintly, putting her hand on his back. “I do love you.”

    “Mm,” he said, sniffing hard and looking up shakily. “Good. Shall we be a pair of idiots together, then, in a tumbledown stone house that in spite of my poor aunty’s best intentions ain’t going to be properly finished this century?”

    “Mm,” agreed Lash with a very shaky smile. “Let’s. –I’ve forgotten what your name is,” she added idiotically.

    “Lucas,” he said, his shoulders shaking slightly.

    “Oh, yes: how silly of me. Lucas.”

    Oddly enough at this Lucas Henderson went bright red, seized her fiercely in his arms and kissed her until they were both breathless. “That all right?” he gasped, panting.

    “Yes, Lucas!” gasped Lash. “Glory, yes!”

Next chapter:

https://thefortunateformbys.blogspot.com/2023/10/the-last-spaniard.html