Gather Ye Rosebuds

Chapter Seventeen

Lord Weylin did not call that evening. I had a note from Mrs. Chawton informing me that the first meeting of the Book Society would take place at her house at eight. I had been looking forward to it with keen pleasure, but wrote putting it off in expectation of seeing Weylin. When I went in search of a servant to deliver my message, Steptoe made a hissing sound from the hallway, and beckoned me to him.

"I am not a snake, Steptoe. If you wish to speak to me, pray use the King's English. What do you want?” I demanded.

He handed me a note. “From his lordship,” he said with a leer. “His footman left this billy doo, with instructions to give it to you on the sly, miss.” He put his finger to his lips and said, “Mum's the word."

"This is not a billet-doux, but an ordinary note,” I said, and snatched it from his fingers. My heart was racing, but whether it was from annoyance with Steptoe or anticipation of my billet-doux, I could not determine.

"I wager it's an invitation to tea, miss.” Steptoe smirked. “I wonder why his lordship wanted secrecy."

The note was sealed with wax. I examined it to see Steptoe had not read it before me. The seal did not appear to have been tampered with. I gave him the note for Mrs. Chawton and told Mama I was going up to my studio, as I wanted privacy to read my note.

Was it a billet-doux? That would explain Weylin's efforts to discredit Borsini, if he feared I was romantically interested in the count. I did not go to the studio, but to my bedroom. My fingers were trembling as I broke the wax seal. The letter was long enough to require two sheets of paper.

I read:

Zoie. I am sending this to you privately. It is for you to decide how much to tell your mama. I did not find Andrew Jones in London, but I spoke to his lawyer. There is documented evidence that Jones is the illegitimate son of my aunt-and your uncle. My aunt did not make any other will than the one read at Parham. She arranged to hand over her worldly goods to her son before dying. Naturally I shall not interfere in the arrangement. It seems reasonable to assume that your uncle's missing money was also given to Jones.

I have heard from Mrs. Riddle, Lady Margaret's companion. She confirmed that my aunt gave birth to a male child six months after her marriage, and the family set about the story that it was a legitimate miscarriage. Apparently Mr. Macintosh was aware of Margaret's condition when he married her. He made the stipulation that the child be put out for adoption, and arranged the matter himself. My aunt was not told where the baby went, and promised not to try to find him. One can feel some sympathy with her. She must have been at her wits’ end when McShane shabbed off, leaving her with child. I can forgive her; whether you can forgive your uncle is another matter. I own I find it difficult.

That is no reason to punish Mr. Jones, however. I am making queries to find him, to see if he needs any further assistance. As we agreed at Tunbridge, this matter will be kept entre nous. If you have any questions, you can find me here. I shall be at Parham for the next while. Please let me know whether you are telling your mama or not, so that I shall know what to say-and what not to say-when I meet her.

On a happier note, Mama likes your Count Borsini amazingly. She (and Bubbums) are to sit for him. He has agreed to begin her portrait tomorrow afternoon, canceling all lessons for the present, and has asked that I make his apologies to you. He will not be able to keep his appointment. I felt sure you would not object, as this will do his career good. We might get the prince to sit for him yet!

I hope the news regarding your uncle does not distress you overly much. There may have been extenuating circumstances. I have not told Mama any of this yet, so if you are speaking to her, please bear it in mind.

Your servant, Weylin.

I read the note twice, then read it again to see if there was anything that should be kept from Mama. As she already knew, or believed, that Barry was deeply involved, there seemed no harm in showing her the letter. Despite Steptoe's leers and smirks, there was no air of romance about it. Weylin did not even say he would call. I would find him (by which he meant a note) at Parham if I had any questions. That indicated that, while he was willing to forgive my uncle, he had no wish to strengthen the acquaintance with the family.

It seemed hard that he should steal Borsini away as well. I disliked, too, the offhand way he did it, without even consulting me first. Of course, a portrait of the countess might indeed do Borsini's reputation a world of good, so I tried to be happy for him. I took the letter down to Mama. When she had digested it, we had a long talk. It was not Borsini or Weylin's high-handedness that interested her.

"So Weylin has found out the truth,” she said, with a little sigh of relief. “He is not so out-of-reason cross as I feared. When he finds my nephew, we shall invite Andrew here for a visit. What would do the lad more good is if Weylin would take an interest in him. He could make him an MP, or get him a position with the government. You must talk Weylin into it."

"I doubt Weylin will put himself out for an illegitimate cousin,” I said.

"At least he does not plan to hound Andrew for the money. I believe Weylin is right in thinking there were extenuating circumstances. Perhaps Barry did not know Lady Margaret was enceinte when he went to India. He was never that bad."

"He certainly knew they were not married when he seduced her, Mama! That is bad enough."

"So he did, but so did she know it. It is for the lady to maintain proper conduct. This is not all Barry's fault."

Brodagan brought the tea tray, and by the time we had taken tea, Mama was waxing quite cheerful. She spoke as though it were all settled that Andrew would be a part of both families, yet we hadn't the least notion what sort of a man he was. I hoped she would not be too disappointed.

The evening seemed endless. Until the clock chimed ten times, I was on pins and needles, listening for the sound of a carriage approaching, or a knock at the door. At ten I knew it was too late to hear from Weylin, and went up to bed.

The morning brought new hope. It was a fine, sunny day. Soft balls of cloud looked like whipped cream against the blue sky. I made a careful toilette, and sat in ladylike idleness all the morning long in the saloon, listening once more for the sound of the door knocker. Mama busied herself preparing the guest room for her nephew, whom she was rapidly turning into the son she never had.

Over lunch the talk was all of Andrew. Would my mount suit him, she wondered, or should she look about for a larger one? A gentleman would require a mount. But perhaps he already had one. She would wait until he came, and if he wanted one, he could choose it himself. She would have him ride over that west pasture, and see if it needed tilling. Papa used to speak of it. Perhaps Andrew would want the double-pedestal desk from the study in his bedroom. The desk presently there was only a token. She would have Brodagan arrange it that very day.

"For goodness’ sake, Mama, it is not even certain he is coming. Before you give him Papa's desk and my mount, let us see if he wants to visit us-and whether he is the sort of man we want in the house. God only knows how he was raised. He may be a Captain Sharp or a heathen, for all we know."

"I am sure he was raised a gentleman,” Mama said.

"What makes you so sure? It was Macintosh who arranged his adoption. He would hardly look fondly on his wife's by-blow."

"He was teaching school, Zoie, so he must be educated."

"He was not teaching at Eton or Harrow. It was a poor boys’ school, probably for orphans. He was living in one room. Barry was astonished at his low circumstances."

"Yes, dear, but Andrew would have smartened himself up by now. Barry gave him all that money."

"Yes, and so did Lady Margaret. Whatever else he is, he certainly knows how to look out for his own interests."

"Zoie, that is uncharitable! Remember, he is your cousin."

"And you remember he is only your nephew, Mama. Next you will be saying you ought to leave him Hernefield."

"Oh, not the whole thing, Zoie,” she laughed. “Only a stipulation that he can always be assured of a home here."

"Let us wait until we have met him, before taking him on as a tenant for life,” I said. I was beginning to hope Weylin did not succeed in finding the elusive Andrew Jones.

One can sit still, waiting, for only so long. The walls of Hernefield were beginning to weigh down on me. As Borsini was painting Lady Weylin, Lord Weylin was quite at liberty, but he did not bother to drive the few miles to Hernefield. He was out in his reckoning if he thought I was going to sit home all day long waiting for him. After lunch, I drove into Aldershot to call on Mrs. Chawton. She was not at home. I stopped at the art supply shop while I was there, to purchase some pigments and my extra easel. Rafferty let me down at the shop.

It was a busy place, since all the ladies had taken up watercolors. The oil pigments, less in demand, were kept in a special nook at the rear of the shop. I slid past the watercolor ladies, speaking to a few of them whom I recognized, and continued toward the nook. As I approached it, I spotted Borsini, bent over the shelves, selecting paints.

"Borsini, what are you doing here?” I exclaimed.

"Signorina Barron! What a delightful surprise. I have come to buy supplies for my portrait of Lady Weylin. You have heard of my commission?"

"Indeed I have. Congratulations."

"I am sorry to have to postpone your lesson.” As he was not painting this afternoon, I wondered why he had not slipped my lesson in. “Lady Weylin will not want to sit both morning and afternoon,” I said.

"She prefers mornings, when she is rested."

"Then you can come to me one afternoon."

Lord Weylin appeared from behind the rack of pigments. “Miss Barron! I thought I recognized your voice.” He bowed.

I curtsied. As I was “Miss Barron,” Weylin became “Lord Weylin.” “Lord Weylin. I did not realize you were interested in painting."

"Mostly in Mama's portrait,” he replied. “Borsini has kindly agreed to stay with us for the two weeks of the sitting. I drove him to town as he will require a larger carriage to transport his clothing and supplies."

Borsini moving into Parham for two weeks? This was condescension of a high order. Even stranger was that Weylin should turn his carriage into a tranter's wagon, and become Borsini's servant.

Bereft of a sensible reply, I said, “I see."

"I have been to Borsini's studio,” Weylin continued. “He showed me some of your work. Very nice.” The only work of mine Borsini had was a couple of sketches of myself.

Borsini said, “Lord Weylin particularly liked a seascape I painted at Brighton. You know the one, Miss Barron, with the bathing houses."

Borsini had painted several scenes of Brighton, which he sold to tourists as a souvenir of their visit to the seaside. He dashed these potboilers off quickly to make money. They were pretty, but not what a connoisseur would purchase.

I exchanged a secret smile with Borsini. “Oh yes, I recall the seascapes. Lord Weylin has chosen well."

Borsini feared I would say more, and rushed in to ask how my studio was coming along.

"The color you chose is excellent. The painters are just finishing up. I have come to buy oils and another easel. Like you, I shall have more than one work going at a time."

"I want to show you some new brushes they have just got in,” Borsini said. “Fine badger-hair brushes. I cannot like those cheap pig-bristle ones you still use from time to time, Miss Barron. They leave their mark in the pigment. They are too hard."

Weylin followed along as we examined the brushes. When Borsini had talked me into three of the expensive sort, the talk turned to easels. Weylin's nose was out of joint at being ignored.

When my selections were made, he said, “You had best pick out your pigments, Borsini. I shall bear Miss Barron company while her purchases are being wrapped."

Borsini bowed and said, “I look forward to resuming our lessons soon, signorina. Buongiorno."

As soon as we were alone, Weylin said, “You had my note?"

"Yes. I am surprised to see you dawdling about the shops. I thought you would be looking for Andrew. Mama is very eager to meet him."

"I have hired a man to trace Jones. I am no sleuth. The job requires an expert."

"That leaves you free to chaperon Borsini."

"I happened to be free for an hour,” he said with a shrug.

"It did not occur to you to call at Hernefield?” I snipped. “Mama was very upset at your note. It would have made it easier if you had come in person."

"You showed her the letter, then? I was not sure you would want to worry her with the details."

"Of course I showed it to her. She has a right to know."

"I have not told Mama yet. I was waiting for a reply to my note before calling on you."

Why had I not thought of that! I should have answered his note. “Do you not plan to acknowledge Andrew, then?"

"That must depend on what sort of fellow he is. I shan't introduce a scoundrel into the house as a relation and friend."

"I wish you will tell Mama so! She is refurbishing a guest room for him. She speaks of buying him a mount."

Weylin stared in dismay. “Good God!"

"Oh yes. She even speaks of allowing him a right to reside at Hernefield in her will. I half hope he is a recognizable scoundrel, or she will disinherit me entirely."

He laughed lightly. “In that case, you must come to stay at Parham, Zoie. You will be home this evening?"

"Yes. Mama is having her crones in for cards, but I only play when Mrs. Vale cannot come. She is coming this evening. Shall I expect you to call?"

"That was my intention."

Borsini rejoined us as the clerk brought out my parcel. “Let me carry that to the carriage for you,” Borsini offered.

"You finish up your purchase, Borsini,” Weylin said. “I shall escort Miss Barron."

I looked for a hint of jealousy in Weylin's manner, but could find only impatience. Weylin carried the oils, the clerk carried the easel, and we three went out to the carriage. I was happy to know Weylin would call that evening, but still mystified by his dancing such assiduous attention on Borsini.

Only a few days ago he had scoffed at Borsini's claim of having been commissioned to paint the Prince Regent. He had spurned his artistic talent and questioned his title. Now suddenly he had not only commissioned Borsini to paint his mother, he had actually moved him into his house. And he had done it before going to the studio to judge the merit of his painting, too. I could only conclude Weylin had satisfied himself as to Borsini's right to his title. Or as this was so unlikely, I thought perhaps Lady Weylin had taken an unaccountable liking to the artist. She now had two pets to occupy her-Bubbums and Borsini.