Laura Matthews (23 page)

The drawing-room background she had started before his arrival was adequate, with its view of a large gilded looking-glass above a Grecian-ornamented fireplace, wall sconces and panels with the rough outlines of make-believe paintings on the walls and glass doors to the outside. But when he asked her permission to fill in the paintings, he drew a truly remarkable seascape and a ludicrous family portrait which Phoebe could not help giggling over. Beyond the glass doors he painted a country scene of lawns and woodlands, touched with humor by an odd assortment of dogs and trysting servants.

The outdoor scene was an arbor in the garden, and Pontley’s eye for color made it come to life with primroses and honeysuckle, lilacs and laburnum. In the distance he painted a deer park, where one deer had a red ribbon round his neck. “A concession to your pet at Manner Hall,” he teased Glenna, who had desisted in her efforts to paint, in honor of his superior talents.

“I had no idea you could paint like this!” she exclaimed with an admiring wave at the two scenes.

"There are many things about me that you don’t know, Miss Forbes.” Although his tone was bantering and his eyes mocked her, he yet managed to convey an impression of seriousness to her.

“Yes, well, that is only natural, but to have so much talent! I mean, I ought to have known such a thing, surely.”

“I cannot see why, as I do not paint much any more. When I was at sea it was a hobby of mine to while away the long hours.” He cleaned the brushes as he spoke, carefully replacing them in their case—one of his own which he had brought with him.

Glenna watched him curiously. “Why don’t you paint now? You must have ample time to do so. It would be a shocking waste to put your brushes away forever.”

“I only enjoy it when I am at peace with myself. The discord I transmit to paper otherwise is not to my taste.”

“But you seemed to enjoy yourself doing the backdrops. I think perhaps you have forgotten whatever discord you may feel while you painted, and certainly the results must satisfy you.”

Pontley surveyed the scenes with a practiced eye. “Yes, I am pleased with them. It is seldom, though, that I have such an admiring audience and such agreeable company to temporarily achieve the necessary peace.”

Since Jennifer’s few comments on the work in progress could hardly constitute an admiring audience, and since she had provided no assistance at all during the project, Glenna could only assume that he meant herself, and she could find no response to make. She turned away from him in confusion.

Realizing that he had discomposed her, Pontley took himself to task. It was grossly unfair for him to either taunt or compliment her in his inflexible position. In an attempt to take away any heavier overtones to his remarks, he commented casually, “I think your skill on the harp gives you a greater appreciation of those arts in which you are not as proficient. Not that I count myself so talented as you, or as any other dabbler who doesn’t botch it altogether,” he assured her. Then with a lopsided grin, he added, “But I am not particularly modest, either, as you see.”

Glenna could not but laugh at his honesty. "Oh, I could tell right off that you were not.” Her face drew up in the charming, puzzled expression which made him long to take her in his arms. “It seems unfair sometimes that I should play the harp well. Do you know, I think of it as a gift rather than an accomplishment. Not that I have not worked at it, you understand, but many work equally hard for far less results.”

They were joined by the rest of the cast then and Phoebe immediately spotted the deer. “I think he has forgiven us for littering up the stable, Glenna.” She turned enthusiastically to Pontley. “Your scenery is going to outshine our theatricals, I fear.”

“Oh, no,” Jennifer protested. “The scenes are very nice, but the audience will not see them so close as we can now, and their attention will surely be drawn by the players in their costumes.”

Phoebe shook her head wonderingly at such want of tact but Pontley appeared amused and suitably deflated, his eyes dancing when he shared a glance with Glenna. “Oh, Lord,” she murmured, “I have forgotten the time. Mary is due to arrive this afternoon.”

“Do you suppose she will try to change anything so late in our preparations?” Jennifer asked anxiously.

“Mary?” Glenna asked, surprised. “I should not think she will even come by until tomorrow night when we present the play. The vicar should introduce her as the author, don’t you think, Phoebe?”

“Yes, and I have not the least doubt it will go to her head. The promising new author of the year.”

"Well, I doubt she has an ambitious bone in her body,” Glenna retorted. “This must all seem rather a lark to her.”

They had no idea until they saw her, an hour later, how much of a lark it was for Mary Stokes. She arrived in a truly regal fur-trimmed mantelet with matching muff and hat, every inch the celebrity. Kilbane had taken a room in the local inn rather than make Glenna give up her share of Phoebe’s room to Mary, which was probably a good thing, since Mary brought with her an entire trunk of clothing for her three-day stay. Her delight at seeing them was unfeigned.

“Phoebe, dearest, your note arrived just before I left and I cannot tell you how happy I am for you. And Glenna love, I must tell you I am
aux anges
at having my play performed. Imagine! I have written to simply everyone in London to spread the word and I don’t doubt that a few very special friends will even come down for the performance. There will be room for them, won’t there?” she asked anxiously, her delicate features suddenly contorted with worry.

“I should think so,” Phoebe responded dryly. “At the performance, at least. Whether there will be room at the inn is another matter.”

“Oh, that’s all right then. They won’t mind stopping in the next town if necessary, I dare say. Martha,” she said, turning to her maid, “do be sure to hang up my gowns straight away. They will be horribly crushed from the journey.”

“I think we are to have a London opening,” Phoebe whispered to Glenna as they climbed the stairs.

And the authoress was not content to merely sit on her laurels, but insisted on attending the dress rehearsal the next morning, much to her cousin's surprise. She did not upset the players, however, as everything from the acting to the costumes to the scenery thrilled her beyond measure.

Jennifer was at first inclined to be truculent when she met Miss Stokes, but the first word of praise won her over. “Nothing could be more delightful,” Mary rhapsodized at the conclusion of their performance. “Miss Stafford is perfect, absolutely perfect. Who would have believed you should have found such a diamond to star in
my
play?”

It was a relief to Phoebe to escape such gushing enthusiasm to return from the schoolhouse to await Captain Andrews’s arrival. As the hours passed she became nervous, and finally terrified that he would not arrive. Glenna could not comfort her, although she could see that her friend was distracted and near to tears. In the end it was Pontley, coming to check that everything necessary had been done for the evening’s performance, who took her in hand. Using the pretext of consulting her on the propriety of having the vicar marry him, rather than the cleric of the parish in which Lockwood was located, he bundled her out to the garden and walked and talked with her for over an hour.

His matter-of-fact acceptance that Captain Andrews would soon arrive braced Phoebe, and his admiration of the captain as a sailor filled her with pride. When he spoke of the excitement of the sea, she more clearly understood its call for some men, its challenge and rewards. And he spoke, too, of the loneliness which crept over a man, the longing to have someone waiting for him to share his burdens and his joys at trip’s end.

Rarely had Phoebe felt so gratified as when he smiled at her and said, “James could not have chosen better in his life’s partner, Miss Thomas. I know there will be times when you worry about him, but your naturally optimistic outlook will see you through, and will be a great comfort to you both.”

Phoebe lifted her chin resolutely and returned his smile. “Thank you, Lord Pontley. I have every wish to make James happy.”

He pressed her hand reassuringly. “I’m sure you will.”

Although it was almost dinner time before Captain Andrews arrived, his carriage having suffered a broken splinter bar which required three hours to mend, Phoebe remained cheerfully calm. Her only disturbing thought was that she wished Glenna had had the sense to marry Pontley when she had the chance.

* * * *

True to their word, several of Mary’s London friends arrived for the performance, which was just as well, for otherwise she would have been the only one wearing London formal attire at the play. Pontley had exerted himself to bring the dowager, and Jennifer was in tearing spirits. The play went off without a hitch, and several of the London beaux were stunned with Miss Stafford and her acting abilities. She was unnaturally shy about their attentions afterwards, however, and stayed close to Kilbane for courage.

Mary Stokes received compliments with the gracious air she had displayed on being introduced by the vicar. Not a cloud dimmed her horizon, for the rather serious young man on whom she had her eye was duly impressed with her abilities and asked if he might call on her at her home late in January. Even the dowager presented a rather less formidable facade than usual. She did not appear at all distressed by Jennifer’s obvious reliance on Kilbane rather than Pontley, she complimented Glenna on her playing, and she told the vicar she intended to make a private contribution to his school project.

Phoebe quietly suggested to Glenna that Pontley must have slipped his aunt an extra glass at their meal, but she could not wait for a reply to her pert remark, as there were so many neighborhood people who wished to be introduced to Captain Andrews.

So the performance was a smashing success in every way, producing enough money to see the school through the rest of the year and providing the audience with an enjoyable time. The only discordant note to the entire evening was Jennifer’s announcement that her father had written to say he and her mother would be at Lockwood within a fortnight. More than one heart grew heavy at the imminent wedding, and Jennifer’s was not the least of them.

In their room Phoebe and Glenna talked long into the night since it would be some time before they met again. Mrs. Thomas came by early and Glenna, feeling that the older woman wished to speak alone with her daughter, visited with Mary Stokes for a while. But when Phoebe came to fetch her, she immediately returned to continue their discussion.

“Mama has been very frank with me just now about men and women, Glenna. I—I think I understood before, but not so well.”

“Are you frightened?”

“A little,” Phoebe admitted. “James has only kissed me a few times. Well, there has hardly been an opportunity, has there?”

“No, poor lamb, you have been surrounded by troops of people every time you met. Phoebe, my mother died when I was still rather young, and of course Papa said nothing to me, though I think he tried when I was engaged to Pontley. Would it...be difficult for you to explain a bit to me? I feel dreadfully ignorant.”

Rather than embarrassment, it was relief that governed Phoebe’s reply. “You would not mind? I really feel that I must talk about it with someone, but Mama—you know, well, she is talking about Papa, of course, and... Anyway, I had hoped that you might just listen to what she told me and tell me what you think.” With such a topic for discussion, the candle burned late, but neither young woman was the least bit tired in the morning.

The wedding was arranged for ten o’clock so the couple would have time to enjoy their wedding breakfast and still have several hours of daylight for their first day’s journey. The vicar read the service with moving eloquence while Mrs. Thomas dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes and Phoebe smiled ecstatically at her bridegroom, who returned her smile with one of suitable gravity, though his eyes belied any undue solemnity on his part.

The vicarage was too small to handle many guests, so it was a small wedding party that returned there for breakfast. Mary Stokes, Kilbane, Pontley, Jennifer and Glenna were the only guests beside the family, but the occasion was nonetheless a festive one. Jennifer proudly presented the couple with a music box, and Mary had a pair of silver candlesticks for them; Kilbane had chosen an antique pewter tankard and Glenna an ebonized wood pen tray inlaid in brass and tortoise shell.

The most surprising gift was Pontley’s. “You will note that I have spared no expense,” he laughed as he handed the wrapped package to Phoebe. Within she found two framed water colors; one of James Andrews on board ship and the other of herself with the deer at Manner Hall. They were not perfect likenesses, but he had somehow captured something essential in each of them, and Phoebe impulsively stood on tiptoe to bestow a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, thank you, Lord Pontley. We shall treasure them always.”

Watching her friend’s pleasure in the gift, Glenna felt a momentary pang of envy. How could she ever have thought Pontley callous and insensitive? Nothing he could have given the couple would have charmed them more than the two water colors, and that he had done them himself made them all the more valuable. Glenna ached to have one of her own to take away with her, to remember him by through all those years she would never see him again.

When it was time for Phoebe to leave, she clung to Glenna, whispering, “Best of friends, write to me often, and come to see me when you can. I have never been so happy, and the only thought that troubles me is that I leave you to less than equal joy.”

Glenna produced an impudent grin and retorted, “Have a care, Mrs. Andrews! I am about to face a new challenge, and you know how exhilarating that is for me. All my wishes go with you, love, for years of happiness and contentment.”

With a last quick hug Phoebe parted from Glenna to take her husband’s hand, her face radiant and trusting as she looked up at him. They entered the carriage and were soon rolling down the road while Glenna bit her lip to hold back the tears which threatened. Mr. Thomas stood with his arm about his wife’s shoulders as the carriage disappeared from sight.