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Mama gave her a sideways look. “Julia, I should love to take you to town with us, if only to show you something of the wider world beyond the confines of your life thus far. All you have ever known is one small northern town and a tiny corner of Hertfordshire. In town you would meet a very different society, one that might appeal to you.”
“A superior society?” Julia said mischievously.
“In some ways, yes,” Mama said seriously. “Not in all. London manners are very elegant, but the aristocracy is not always sound on questions of morality, so one must be cautious. But you would have enjoyed the sights of London, dear. It is a wondrous place indeed. However, if you are minded to stay here, I shall make no objection, you may be sure. It will make our stay in town a little easier.”
“You will not have to worry about me tripping over my own feet in the cotillion, you mean,” Julia said cheerfully.
“That was not what was in my mind, Julia. It is Mrs Reynell’s insinuations that concern me more. If you are not to marry Mr Plummer, there will be whispers following us to town. Your absence will enable them to die down more quickly.”
“Ah, yes. Mrs Reynell. Is there anything you wish me to do, Mama, anything that would help?”
“Apart from marrying, there is nothing that can help,” she said crisply. “Water under the bridge, Julia. We must live with the consequences of that woman’s malice, I fear.”
~~~~~
James had Mrs Reynell on his mind, too. If he could have announced his betrothal to Julia, the foul rumours would have died down, but now they would fester and he could not allow her good name to be besmirched. Yet what could he do about it? Mrs Reynell was a respectable widow, whose word would be accepted without question.
He was sitting glumly over a glass of Madeira in the kitchen when Thomas came in, stamping snow from his boots.
“The thaw is setting in already,” he said. “Snow never lasts long at this time of year. We are almost into April, after all.”
“Look what you’ve done to my clean floor, Master Thomas,” Mrs Pound said, wiping floury hands on her apron. “Janet’s just mopped that.”
“Not to worry, Mrs Pound. I shall mop it again.”
He did, too, whistling cheerfully as he worked, even while Mrs Pound grumbled on, pointing out tiny spots he had missed. Eventually, even her high standards were met, and Thomas subsided into a chair with a mug of coffee.
“Wine already, my friend? Is it truly so bad?”
“Mercer’s been here, that’s what’s set him on edge,” Mrs Pound said.
“Mr Fletcher? He came here?” Thomas said.
“He just wanted to thank me for taking Miss Fletcher home.”
“Ah.”
James answered the implicit question. “I shall not pursue Miss Fletcher any more.”
“Ah.”
“Now, that’s a right shame,” Mrs Pound said, as she rolled out pastry at the other end of the kitchen table. “Lovely girl, she is, no matter what that Mrs Reynell says.”
“What exactly does she say?” James said. “No one repeats such tales to my face, but I should like to know.”
“That Miss Julia set her cap at you from the day she moved here, but there’s no one’d blame her for that, not with you such a fine young gen’leman, an’ all,” Mrs Pound said. “And that she was in here alone with you for a whole hour, and me and Janet not here, and not even that Lightwood around to lend a shred of propriety. That’s what she says. Not that you was up to no mischief, not with bloody cloths left for me to wash and bandages gone and the ointment used, and Mr Grimston’s boy seeing everything that happened with that there bull in Boggy Meadow. Everyone knows you was telling the truth about all that.”
“Everyone being the servants, I suppose,” James said. “Whereas Mrs Reynell whispers in the ears of her acquaintances, who have not had the benefit of hearing the Grimston’s boy’s testimony, and are somewhat above the level of servants’ gossip.”
“Well, as to that, she’s no better than a servant herself, that one.”
“Mrs Reynell?” Thomas said, sitting up straighter. “Do you know something scurrilous about her, Mrs Pound? Oh, do tell!”
The cook looked uncomfortable suddenly. “I’m not one for gossiping, as you know, Master Thomas.”
“Of course not, but a matter is only gossip if it is untrue,” Thomas said sweepingly. “We are men of the cloth, Mrs Pound. We should know everything about our parishioners.”
“Well, if you put it like that,” Mrs Pound said. “And itistrue. She came from Stevenage originally, Mrs Reynell, and my cousin has a place there, housekeeper to a very well-set-up gen’leman. A bachelor he’s been all his life, but he always had… well,women, if you take my meaning.”
