Jennie Kissed Me (8 page)

Though powerful and full of life, the pair were sweet goers with silk mouths. They responded to the lightest touch. I knew before I reached the main road that I had not lost my skill. How exhilarating it was to canter along with the sun beating on my shoulders and a smoothly-moving rig beneath me. I began figuring what corners I would have to cut to buy such a carriage for myself. It could only be done if I omitted the London holiday. There was a  moment of panic when a coach and four were spotted in the distance galloping toward us at breakneck speed. As they drew nearer the coach got wider and wider till I feared I would have to go in the ditch to avoid a crash. But I pulled as far as I could to my side, the coach driver pulled to his, and we squeaked past without incident.

“Well done, Miss Robsjohn!” Lady Victoria exclaimed. “Just like Lettie Lade.”

“Who is Lettie Lade?”

“Haven’t you heard of her? She is all the crack in London. Sir John Lade’s wife—she is a famous whip, though not very good ton, Papa says. Too fast by half.” I saw I could learn a few things from Lady Victoria if I kept my ears open. I was entirely ignorant of the social
on dits
of London. “When can I try?” she asked soon.

“As soon as we reach Willigan’s road. Where do I turn off?”

“Just at that big elm tree by the corner. Turn right.”

The turn was executed without incident. I had managed two miles without disgracing myself, but my arms were fatigued from tension, and I was happy to turn the reins over to my charge. I showed her the proper way to arrange the leathers between her fingers to allow free and equal pressure on all reins.

“They are easy goers. Don’t yank on the reins to stop them but just pull gently.”

“Papa already told me that much. Giddap.” She gave them their head, and we were off at a stately trot.

Being young and full of confidence she was eager to see them canter, but I held her down to a trot on the first lesson. For an hour we drove up and down Willigan’s road. The lesson was enlivened by a meeting with two jigs and a farm cart, both of which she passed successfully.

“Can’t I let them canter, just the last mile?” she begged as we neared the end of the road.

“Very well, but pull in at the corner and let me drive home. The main road is too busy, but you’ll be driving it within the week. You have a natural talent.” She beamed with pleasure.

The canter was beyond her. The nags got out of rhythm, and we finished the lesson at an uneven, jiggling gait. I thought it a good lesson to us both. She must not have more confidence than skill, and I must not let her talk me into folly. I intimated the former in my schoolmistressy way.

“Oh, Jennie!” she laughed. “Don’t turn into a governess on me again.”

I was surprised at her calling me Jennie but pleased at her unconsciously friendly speech. “I heard Papa call you Jennie,” she said, with a curious light in her eye. “Do you mind my doing so, as you are a friend, not a governess?”

I was happy to be free of anything that smacked of the schoolroom and gave her permission. We got on better after the lesson. That evening Victoria (she asked me to call her so) and Mrs. Irvine and myself retired to a small, cosy saloon to chat while Victoria worked on her father’s slippers and I mended a rip under the arm of a favorite blouse.

“If it’s worn out, why don’t you throw it away?” she asked innocently.

“It is not worn out. A seam has split, that’s all. One does not discard perfectly good clothing.”

“It doesn’t look new. The nap is all worn off.”

“I’ve had it two years.” She laughed. “You don’t realize what a privileged position you hold, Victoria. Most young ladies have to count their pennies. It cost me a whole day’s work to buy the material for this blouse and three evenings’ labor to make it.”

“Did you make it yourself?” she asked, eyes wide. This was what impressed her and not the cost.

“Certainly I did. I did all my own sewing till I inherited a little money from an uncle.”

“You are so capable, Jennie,” she said, shaking her head in wonder. “I wish I could be like that.”

“What is to prevent it? You’re able-bodied and intelligent.”

“That is a very nice stitch you are setting there in your papa’s slippers,” Mrs. Irvine pointed out.

“And soon you’ll be driving well, too,” I added.

“Yes,” she said doubtfully, “but you are
really
independent. Papa has always taken care of me. You take care of yourself completely. You do your own hair. You don’t have a dresser or anything.”

“My circumstances were different from yours. We must each learn the duties we have to perform in life. For you that will be running a gentleman’s house. What you ought to do is spend some time with the housekeeper learning such things. I would be no help to you there. I would be happy, however, to accompany you in your charitable work while I am here.”

Her face was a perfect blank. “What charitable work?”

“Why, visiting your father’s tenants and the sick of the parish, helping out at the church, and the local orphanage ...” I continued with a list of the usual good deeds of a lady, but none of the items elicited any understanding.

She read the disapproval on my brow, and said, “I have been in the schoolroom till now.”

“Now that you are out of it you will want to assume the duties of a lady. One cannot be expected to be treated as an adult if she behaves like a child, can she? You must bear in mind that privileges impose an obligation, Victoria. How many girls do you think live in such a home as this, surrounded by every luxury? My room at the seminary was not much bigger than the clothes press in my room here, and I was not amongst the truly unfortunate. From my tiny stipend, earned by the sweat of my brow, I always designated a tithe for charity.”

She was aghast at this plain speaking. “No one ever told me! They have been treating me like a child!”

“Someone has dropped you the hint now. We shall see if you are mature enough to act on it.”

“I have dozens of gowns I should be happy to be rid of.”

“Silken gowns would not be much good to the poor, who do strenuous labor for a living. One cannot pick stones for the road or work in a dairy in a silk gown. Giving what you no longer want is not true charity, Victoria. You must give what will be useful—which is not to say you cannot give those excess gowns to some relative less favored than yourself.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow. And we shall visit Mrs. Munson, too. She had twins last week, Jennie. Would you not like to see them?”

“Indeed I would. Who is this Mrs. Munson?”

“She is a tenant.”

“I daresay she would appreciate a meal from your kitchen—soup or a joint or something of that sort —while she is unable to cook.”

A pensive look settled on her pretty little face. “I wonder how the family eat while she is in bed. They have no servants.”

I was happy to see I had directed her thoughts in the proper direction and encouraged her along these lines. It was arranged that our driving lesson the next day would take us to Mrs. Munson’s house, bearing food.

Lady Victoria took her new duties seriously. A hamper large enough to feed an army was delivered to the Munsons’ house the next day. The twins were delightful—boys with golden wisps of curls and faces like angels and tiny little fists. The mother looked more shocked than pleased to see us but thanked us very prettily. Victoria was allowed to hold one boy, I the other. The strength of the emotion that seized me as I held the infant was astonishing. I felt a fierce love of it. How much stronger must the sensation be when a lady holds her own child in her arms?

I began to feel, over the few days before Marndale’s return, that Victoria had been a bud waiting to open. A little guidance was like sun and water to her better nature. Her hankering for my approval was almost pathetic. She would come running to me, telling me she was cutting flowers for the church altar, or sending some clothes to someone called Cousin Alicia, who apparently felt the lack of new gowns; and once she said she had set aside a tenth of her allowance to give the vicar to dispense to worthy parishioners.

“That was well done, Victoria. Don’t you feel the better for it?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, I never felt so happy in my life.” She did look more alive. Her eyes glowed, and her face had entirely lost its sullen look. “There is a great pleasure in doing good deeds. I am thinking of devoting my life to charity.”

I felt sure this white hot enthusiasm would dwindle to a more acceptable level with no urging from me, but the seed had been planted, and she would, hopefully, do as much as she ought.

We were now close enough that I ventured to quiz her about the Simon family. “Who is this Desmond the girls mentioned?” I asked calmly.

“He’s their older brother.”

“Handsome, is he?”

“He was sent to a good public school and has better manners, though he is not precisely handsome.”

“Is he a beau?” I asked quizzingly.

“Oh, no, I am just using him for practice when I make my curtsey next year.”

“That is rather cruel to Desmond, is it not? You might raise hopes that you have no plan to fulfill.”

“I never thought of that! I am so selfish!”

“A lady always treats others as she would wish to be treated if she were in their place. Now you would not want Desmond toying with your emotions, would you?”

“No, toying and playing are for children. I shall be a little cooler in future. Still friendly, for I must not hurt their feelings, but cooler. Perhaps you and I shall drop in one day,” she said, for all the world like a dowager arranging her strategy. “But I shan’t flirt with Desmond.”

Marndale was to return on Friday afternoon. Victoria was eager to be home to greet him and looking her best. “For he does not usually come alone,” she mentioned with a teasing look. “You must tidy your hair, Jennie, and wear your nicest gown. Perhaps some of his guests will be bachelors.”

There was a place for building character and doing good deeds but that need not prevent a lady from making a push to attach a husband. I did as she advised and was sitting with Victoria in state in the garden with a dainty umbrella to protect our complexions when the carriages rumbled up the drive.

“Only one extra carriage,” Victoria said, peering through the privet hedge. “I wonder who it can be. There is a crest on the door. Let us go out and meet them.”

With Victoria for an excuse I did exactly what I had been wanting to do myself. Who should step down from the other carriage but Lord Anselm, brother to Lady Mary Anselm, an ex-pupil. I recognized his long, lean frame and curly head four yards away, and he recognized me as well.

“Miss Robsjohn, what the deuce are you doing here?” he smiled, and came pouncing forward to shake my hand like an old friend. I had forgotten his chin was so huge. It hung like a beard made of flesh.

“I am keeping Lady Victoria company while her father looks about for a permanent companion.” I noticed from the corner of my eye that Marndale was looking at me, waiting for me to welcome him; but I could not cut Lord Anselm off too abruptly.

“I had no notion you were connected to Marndale,” he continued, “though I realized, of course, you were dashed out of place in that school in Bath.” I flushed with pleasure and admitted I was not connected to Marndale. “Charles, you sly dog,” he continued, turning to Marndale, “you did not tell me you knew Miss Robsjohn. I should have known when you mentioned your guest’s fiery crown.” His eyes slid toward my curls in a knowing grin.

I derived considerable amusement from Marndale’s shocked face. It amused me, too, that he had been giving his guest a description of me. I went forward to shake his hand and make him welcome at his own home.

“Jennie, how has everything been going?”

“Victoria and I have managed to fill our days most agreeably.”

“Jennie has reformed me, Papa!” Victoria laughed.

A flash of interest lit his eyes at our easy rapport and use of first names. “I recognized Jennie as an extremely capable lady from the start, but I had no notion she was a miracle worker.”

“Oh, Papa, surely I was not that bad! Just selfish and spoiled.”

They began walking toward the door together, and I fell into step behind with Lord Anselm. Our conversation was about what was to be expected. He asked when I had left the school, and why, and paid a few compliments to the effect that I must be sorely missed there. His business with Marndale was political. He had come for the weekend to iron out the details of some bill for presentation in Parliament. I made sure to mention I would soon be in London, and he asked for permission to call without blinking an eye. My being at Wycherly put me on a completely different social level, as I had suspected it would.

We all went into the saloon, and Mrs. Irvine came to join us. I have given her short shrift in my account. She did not accompany Victoria and myself on our outings. There was plenty to entertain her in the house and gardens. She liked to sit at a window with a good view, doing her netting. She took many strolls through the park for exercise and struck up a friendship with the housekeeper and the gardener; and, of course, spent time with myself and Victoria as well.

Lord Anselm took up the chair beside me and continued his overtures at friendship while we had our sherry and biscuits. “Fancy Mary not telling me you had left the seminary. Of course, I have not heard from her in a month, but she might have written me the news. You were her favorite teacher, Miss Robsjohn. Her letters were always full of your doings. She is due home herself in the summer for a year’s ripening in the country before I trot her off to the Season. She gave me a detailed account of the nature hikes you took the girls on last year. Once you remained outdoors overnight, I believe?”

“Yes, it was our intention to live off the land for two days—with a little help from a picnic basket and two footmen to build fires and so on. The headmistress had been reading Mrs. Brunton’s
Self-Control,
and was greatly impressed with the heroine’s ingenuity in the face of hardship. It was the girl’s escaping her attacker in America by floating downstream in a birchbark canoe that particularly impressed her. Rafting was a feature of our great outing.”