Where Love Illumines (Where There is Love Book 2) Page 18

  Again Mary laughed. This was not at all what she had wanted to see, not what she wished for Rowland’s future—whether she was to be part of it or not. And yet when she was with him, heard his excitement, she couldn’t help but catch a bit of his vision. “And have you a name for this mighty work you would build?”

  “I would call it Surrey Chapel, as belonging to all in the county.” Then his voice became quietly serious. “I would pray that the worship of God in Surrey Chapel might prove the beginning of happy days to thousands who are already born of God and the cause of future joy to tens of thousands who are yet dead in sin.”

  Mary laughed at his solemnity. “In faith, Rowly, no one could ever accuse you of too small a vision.”

  They were halfway across the bridge when the rain began. Rowland couldn’t stop on the bridge to put up the hood, and they were thoroughly soaked by the time they found a place to pull over in the traffic around Westminster Palace.

  One result of Mary’s outing with Rowland was that later that week when she again made the journey across Hampstead Heath to attend Mrs. Child’s dinner party, she had a sniffle that threatened an unbecoming redness to her nose.

  But the other result caused her more concern. She was more convinced than ever that Rowland’s course was wrong and that if he bullheadedly insisted on following it, she should have none of him.

  And yet when she thought of the passion of his words in the pulpit, of the challenge of his plans for the future, of the pleasure she always felt in being with him… but no, that would not do. She must harden her heart to such thoughts.

  It was Roger, favorite of the Child family and heir of Bishop Twysden, who could offer her the lifestyle she had determined on. And tonight she would put herself out to be all he could wish for in a companion.

  Twelve

  Under Mrs. Child’s creative guidance, Osterley House had been transformed for the evening’s festivities. A veritable wall of flowers and trees from the orangerie screened the hall from the eyes of arriving guests, who were escorted by elegantly liveried footmen to the drawing room and invited to promenade in the long gallery where a harpist played for their entertainment.

  Mary began her stroll down the length of the gallery on her brother’s arm. They had paused to admire Van Dyke’s equestrian portrait of Charles I on the south wall when Roger, in an elegant robin’s-egg-blue coat and matching breeches lavishly trimmed with silver frogs and metallic lace, made an excessively fine leg to Mary, accompanied by three flourishes of his lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Miss Tudway, may I have the honor of escorting you to the other end of the room to view Rubens’s portrait of the Duke of Buckingham? I find it a far more interesting work than this.”

  Clement placed Mary’s hand on Roger’s outstretched wrist and bowed them on their way. In keeping with her new determination, Mary smiled at Roger. “I believe we are quite well enough acquainted that you might call me Mary, sir.” She gave a flutter of her painted silk fan like a practiced coquette, but she did not feel entirely comfortable in the role.

  Mary smiled and nodded to all of Roger’s witty comments as they sauntered the length of the room. All the while she wondered why she couldn’t relax and flirt and laugh like Sarah, who was at the center of a group of male admirers on the other side of the room. Why must she be different? Why must snatches of sermons and visions of urchins joyfully clutching her halfpennies invade her thoughts at a time like this? Why must she think of Rowland Hill when she was trying to think only of Roger Twysden and his elegant manners?

  “Ah, Uncle, I have brought Mary to view the same painting I see you admiring.”

  Mary dropped a curtsey to the bishop as Roger continued. “You will note I am making progress in my siege upon her heart. She has granted me the favor of calling her by her Christian name.”

  “In faith, it is a pretty girl, nephew.” Bishop Twysden held his hand out to receive Mary’s curtsey. “May I hope we might soon address you in nearer terms yet?”

  Mary laughed and fluttered her fan, but the unmistakable meaning of those words alarmed her. It was the plan she too had fixed on, but she was not prepared to plunge so far so quickly.

  Fortunately, she was rescued by the butler announcing that dinner was served. Mrs. Child, on the arm of the guest of honor, led the way into the gray and white hall, which tonight not even the meanest could characterize as cold or dull. Long banqueting tables set in a U-shape were so heavily laden with flowers, candelabra, epergnes of fruit and sweetmeats, gold cutlery, and crystal that Mary marveled there was room for the guests to dine.

  Once seated at the table, however, Mary became aware that in the gleam of the hundreds of candles, the jewels of the guests far out-glittered even the cut crystal and gold and silver plates. Mary was sure she had never seen so fine a display, not even when Miss Fossbenner had taken her to see the crown jewels in the Tower of London years ago.

  Mary’s hand went unconsciously to the single strand of Elizabeth’s pearls she had borrowed for the evening, and she hoped she might not again encounter the highwayman of Hampstead Heath. Certainly with such rich enticement as this, it was little wonder the villain was tempted to work that lonely road.

  She put such frightful thoughts out of her mind, however, when an army of footmen entered bearing the first course on silver salvers. They presented stuffed partridges, Scotch salmon, rice pilau, and pickled mangoes to each guest. Mary especially enjoyed the pickled mangoes, as she enjoyed all foreign delicacies. Although the turtle steaks that followed were not half as fine as those they had regularly at The Cedars, her father was right to be proud of his Antiguan turtles.

  Roger, seated to her right, kept up a pleasant flow of social chatter, to which she replied evenly until he paused and considered her. “Mary, is something troubling you? You seem distracted. Is there any way I might be of service?”

  She gave a bright but slightly forced laugh. “La, sir. I beg your forgiveness if it is making me a poor companion, but I will admit to a bit of unease at the thought of our return journey across the heath. Did you know we were accosted by that villainous highwayman last month?”

  Roger blanched in his quick concern for her. “No, Mary. I had not heard. Were you hurt?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “But, my dear, it must have been exceedingly alarming for you! Did you lose much to the vile fellow?”

  “Clement and Elizabeth were relieved of some gold and jewels. I lost only my silver shoe buckles. They were not of excessive value, but I had a great sentimental attachment to them as they had been the gift of—er, a dear friend.”

  “Oh, this is infamous that such rapscallions should be allowed to live! May I add my person to your escort tonight? I fancy I’m a fair shot, and I’d like a chance at the scoundrel.”

  “Indeed, you are most kind, Roger. I thank you, but Clement has provided himself and his coachman with extra arms and hired two postillions, so I must trust we’ll be quite safe.” She paused for a bite of the macaroni Parmesan Mrs. Child had brought in from Italy especially to accompany her stuffed partridges, and then continued with a sigh, “But I fear all the precautions in the world can’t restore my buckles.”

  The footmen entered with the second course, and it was now time for the ladies to turn and converse with the person on their other side. A young captain in His Majesty’s Light Dragoons was seated on Mary’s left. Captain Felsham informed her he had recently returned from service in the American colonies.

  “My regiment was quartered in Boston with orders to watch out for smuggling, as the colonials take a very dim view of the import duties passed by Parliament.”

  “Were you treated badly?”

  “Not on the whole. There are many loyal Tories in Boston who entertained us very well. But Sam Adams and his so-called Sons of Liberty were quite another matter. Always stirring up feeling against King George. We had one bit of excitement when a crowd of jeering ruffians began throwing snowballs at a group of our men. When the snowballs tur
ned to stones and the rabble’s taunts went beyond endurance, the men used their guns.”

  Mary’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “But, sir, was anyone hurt?”

  The soldier recalled himself. “Forgive me, miss. I fear I was carried away with my soldier’s tales. This is not a fit topic for a lady’s ears.”

  “Fa, Captain, you’ve begun the story; you must finish it.”

  The captain answered quietly, “Five colonials were killed. I should not have spoken of it. Politics are not for polite company, but I have been so long away I forgot myself.”

  Mr. Child, however, who had caught the drift of the conversation from the top of the table, was bothered neither by rules of conversing with the proper partner nor of keeping to proper topics. He took up the subject of business which was never far from his mind. “Captain Felsham, are they such rabble, those colonists? What will come of my investment in the East India Company’s tea business? It was hoped Lord North’s plan to ship tea directly to America without paying duty at other British ports would keep the colonials happily buying our cheaper tea and drinking the company out of financial difficulty. But so far we’ve not had the returns we hoped for.”

  Captain Felsham shook his head. “I set sail several months ago, sir. But I believe the general feeling in the colonies at the time was that the move was an attempt to bribe them into accepting the principle of Parliamentary taxation.”

  “But why would they refuse to buy cheaper tea?” Mary asked. “Was not the quality as good?”

  “The finest Darjeeling and Ceylon, miss. But they are an independent lot over there. They say they will not pay one penny of tax they have not voted for.”

  Several of the ladies were showing their displeasure that such unseemly topics should be discussed in their hearing, so the conversation returned to polite topics. Mary found herself unable to finish her servings of veal escalope with lemon and fish baked in pastry. During the previous course her tendency to sniffle had been growing more and more severe, and now a headache was beginning at the back of her eyes. She had no intention of missing the final course where her favorite almond sweetmeats were sure to be served, but she felt she must get away for a moment and thoroughly blow her nose.

  As Roger had left the table several minutes before, she signaled a footman. They were stationed every few feet around the room for the purpose of helping guests with their chairs should they wish to leave the table during the long evening of dining and drinking. Mary slipped quickly into the south passage nearest her end of the table and then stood wondering where she should go. She had first thought of Sarah’s bedroom, but that was away on the other side of the house and up the great staircase. Then she thought of the Etruscan dressing room off the state bedchamber which she had glimpsed briefly on Sarah’s whirlwind tour on her first visit. The footman who took their wraps had told Clement the gentlemen’s cloaks and greatcoats were being put there, so it should be unoccupied now.

  She slipped quietly down the passage and paused in the doorway to admire the decoration of terra cotta and black arabesque trellis work against a pale blue background, which gave the room the effect of an open Roman loggia. Then a sharp click from a window alcove told her she was not alone. She looked in the direction of the sound, and her startled expression relaxed into a smile. “Roger, what are you doing in here?” But then her eyes grew alarmed again as she saw that he held a long-barreled pistol. “Roger—”

  Roger laid the firearm beside an Etruscan vase on the mantelpiece and came toward her, smiling. “Our conversation about the highwayman concerned me, my dear Mary. As most of the gentlemen carry their firearms inside their cloaks, I thought it would be best to be certain they were all loaded.”

  “But why didn’t you just tell them to check their own?”

  “And alarm everyone needlessly? I thought it much better to see to it quietly myself.”

  By this time Mary was quite desperate to use her handkerchief, so she merely nodded. “Yes. I shall join you in the hall soon, Roger.”

  Taking that for his dismissal, Roger left her alone. A few minutes later when she returned to the banquet, the courses had been changed. A silver platter arranged with a high pyramid of almond sweetmeats was being handed round. Mary savored a castle-shaped marzipan and turned toward the head of the table where Rapid Westmoreland was entertaining the ladies by engaging their host in bantering conversation.

  “But, Child, it isn’t always that easy. What if you were in love with a girl, and her father denied you permission to marry her? What would you do?”

  Always the man of strong action, Child answered readily, “Why, I’d run off with her, to be sure!”

  With an amused glitter in his eye, Westmoreland raised his glass to Mr. Child while the ladies applauded his answer and giggled behind their fans.

  Shortly after that, Mrs. Child withdrew and led the ladies up to her dressing room where they might repair their face paint and coiffures and refresh themselves with tea until the gentlemen finished their brandy and any further political discussion. Mary, whose headache had increased, sat quietly by Elizabeth in spite of Sarah’s attempts to draw her into conversation. Mary was not displeased when their coach was one of the first to be called for. And she was further relieved when neither Roger nor his uncle appeared to bid her farewell and hand her into the coach. She was quite content just to sink against the cushions and sleep all the way back across Hampstead Heath without giving a second thought to highwaymen or other alarms.

  The next afternoon, after downing three doses of a nasty elixir mixed by Brickett and spending the morning tucked up comfortably by the fire, Mary felt well enough to accompany Elizabeth on a call to Lady Anstine.

  Lady Anstine, who had attended a ball at court instead of the Osterley banquet, was all aflutter to hear every detail of the event; but Elizabeth had barely begun when their hostess interrupted, “Oh, but did you hear of the highwayman last night?” Elizabeth and Mary both shook their heads. “It is too shocking, my dears—shocking. Three coaches of guests from Osterley were robbed of their jewels on their return journey. One carriage was escorted by an intrepid Dragoon captain. He fired on the thief, but his gun misfired. Lady Houseton called here earlier. She said her husband attempted to fire on the rascal too, but his charges had been drawn.”

  “But Roger—” Mary paused in confusion.

  “Yes, my dear, what did you say?” Elizabeth encouraged her to continue.

  “Oh, what a pity I interrupted him. Roger Twysden said he feared just such a thing might happen, and he checked on the gentlemen’s firearms. If I hadn’t interrupted his work, we might have had an end of the highwayman last night.”

  Elizabeth continued with her description of the evening at Osterley, and then the conversation shifted to the next event on the social calendar—the Countess of Huntingdon’s drawing room.

  “I believe this one is to be a purely social affair. I do hope so.” Lady Anstine sighed. “I went quite unaware one time when George Whitefield preached. He was indeed a fine, entertaining preacher, but imagine my surprise when I had intended to spend the afternoon with light gossip and a little music. I’m better acquainted with Her Ladyship’s ways now, however.” Lady Anstine laughed and shook her head with a modicum of indulgence for the countess’s eccentricities which must be over-looked in one of so high a rank.

  The following week early crocuses were in bloom in Hyde Park along Park Lane, which fronted the Countess of Huntingdon’s London home. Mary arrived for the levée in the midst of a throng of fashionable carriages. As soon as she was inside, she did not need the direction of the footman to send her up the curving marble staircase, for the brilliant tones of a harpsichord drew her up to the green and rose damask drawing room.

  An elegant woman wearing a lapis-blue gown trimmed in French lace with a small lace cap on her greying curls was entertaining a group gathered near the harpsichord in the north end of the room. Even from across the room Mary could see that her fingers performed a ver
itable dance upon the ivory keys.

  Lady Selina, looking radiant in a delicately embroidered rose silk gown, greeted Mary and then nodded toward the musician. “Isn’t she marvelous? Have you met her? Catherine Ferrar. Her husband is the tall clergyman standing by the window smiling at her. He’s Mama’s chaplain at Tunbridge Wells. She’s a daughter of old Vincent Perronet whom they call the Archbishop of Methodism.”

  Mary offered her informant a vague smile. She was uncertain just how friendly she wanted to become with a famous Methodist, no matter how polished her musical skills. She did, however, follow Lady Selina closer to the group around the musician. At the end of the lively Haydn air, the listeners applauded.

  Mary was so intent on watching the tall clergyman approach Catherine at the harpsichord and thinking what a striking couple they made that she failed to notice the gentleman approaching her and Lady Selina, until Rowland made his presence known with a bow. “No ill effects from your wetting, I hope?” he inquired after the initial round of greetings.

  His smile never failed to draw its like from Mary, no matter how determined she might be to show displeasure.

  “I’ll admit to nothing more than a mild case of the sniffles. And may that be the worst I ever receive in your company, sir.” She meant it as a set-down, but his laugh and hearty agreement spoiled her effect.

  Then the countess stood at the front of the room and clapped her hands sharply. “My friends, I thank you for joining me here today on this happy occasion.” She cleared her throat and looked around to be certain she had the full attention of everyone in the room.