Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The Plumpton Parish Ladies" Society met one afternoon per month to discuss important matters such as rotas for the cleaning of the church, the prizes for the Twelfth Night tombola, and which of the villagers" spring flower-boxes were not meeting expected standards. Other matters which fell under the remit of the Society included the organising of the summer fete and the winter assemblies.

If one were to read a list of the Society"s functions, one would assume that its meetings were light, pleasant affairs, dripped in gentleness and swimming in femininity. That assumption, however, would be entirely wrong.

As Jane sat listening to Mrs Canards and Mrs Price, the mantua maker, arguing hotly about the quality of jam at last year"s spring tea, she was reminded of something she had once read; in any dispute the intensity of feeling is inversely proportional to the value of the issues at stake .

As the two elderly ladies continued to argue, Jane idly marvelled that the great powers of Austria, Great Britain, Prussia and Russia, had been able to agree to the Treaty of Vienna in a day, when Mrs Canards and Mrs Price looked set to battle over raspberry confiture for years, if left uninterrupted.

Mercifully, an interruption appeared in the form of Miss Sarah Hughes—unusually late—followed by her cousin, Miss Prunella Hughes. The latter was dressed in half-mourning, which gave her pallid appearance an even greyer sheen.

Jane had to bite her lip from gasping at the enormous transformation in Prunella"s appearance; gone were her full rosy cheeks and dancing blue eyes, replaced by hollows and shadows which hinted at internal despair.

"Miss Hughes," Mrs Canards was the first to capitulate to the God of Gossip, "How pale you are!"

Prunella nodded a silent acknowledgement of Mrs Canards" greeting, and meekly followed her cousin to the two spare seats in the circle.

"Apologies for being late," Sarah said, smoothing out the skirts of her dress as she sat down, "It took us longer to prepare than I had anticipated."

Jane did not doubt that it was Prunella who had delayed them; from her lethargic, sad air, it was easy to imagine that the act of dressing or moving was a battle for her.

"You did not miss much, Sarah, dear," Mrs Mifford—who detested the Society"s meetings—offered with a roll of her eyes, "We had somehow slipped off the topic of the forthcoming assembly, onto matters more mundane. Your appearance was most timely, and has offered those of us with little interest in conserves the opportunity to discuss other matters."

Mrs Canards" thin lips twisted into a pout of annoyance, while Mrs Price assumed the look of one who had been deeply offended. As nearly every member of the Ladies" Society had been offended by Mrs Mifford at one time or another, Jane did not allow any silence to linger after she had said her piece, for experience had taught her that quickly glossing over her mother"s barbs was the only way forward.

"Yes," Jane smiled placatingly at the grouped ladies, "Let us decide on a date, as quick as we can. I know you all lead busy lives, and that your time here is voluntarily given."

"I think it"s disrespectful to hold an assembly so soon after the late viscount"s passing," Mrs Canards was the first to offer her thruppence on the matter.

"I agree," Miss Laura Morton nodded her golden curls in agreement, "I have not yet finished stitching the sampler I designed to mark his passing. I have used Psalm 34:18 for the lettering and a flock of doves and lilies to decorate it; would anyone care to see?"

There was a muted response to this question, for Miss Morton was universally viewed as something of a milksop, but Jane took pity on her and asked to view the work.

"Beautiful stitching, Miss Morton," Jane offered, before passing the sampler around the circle, where the ladies offered their own lacklustre compliments on her work.

"Thank you," Miss Morton, who was often as dense as rout-cake, preened at their half-hearted words, "When it"s finished, I am of a mind to gift it to the new viscount, or, perhaps, offer it as a prize in the tombola."

"Oh, don"t do that, dear," Mrs Mifford interjected, "We need a proper prize for that, or we"d never sell any tickets."

Miss Morton"s face fell and Jane hastily moved the conversation on, lest it descended into further farce or, worse, tears.

"So, it is a nay from Mrs Canards and Miss Morton," Jane noted, "Does anyone else object?"

As was expected, Mrs Wickling raised her arm in the air, so that her objection might be noted. The rest of the ladies, however, did not follow suit.

"We cancelled the last assembly to honour the man," Mrs Mifford grumbled, "Do we need to cancel them all from now until infinity, lest someone ends up offended? He was two and eighty ; it was hardly a tragedy."

As ever, Mrs Mifford"s words managed to upset someone; this time, Miss Prunella Hughes, who dissolved into a puddle of sobs.

"Oh, dear," Mrs Mifford had the decency to look somewhat chastised, "Of course it was a tragedy for you, Miss Hughes, I do not argue against that. It"s just, that it was not so sad after all, for the rest of us. In fact, I have heard a few people say—"

"Thank you, Mother," Jane hastily interrupted, before her mother could tell the sobbing Miss Hughes how little the villagers had cared about Lord Crabb"s death.

"It is alright," Miss Hughes batted away concern and proffered handkerchiefs with a watery smile, "Do not mind me. I have not been myself of late. An assembly might be just the thing the village needs, to lift the gloom from the place. I know I could do with some cheering up."

"See," Mrs Mifford, who thought herself above many things but was not above crowing a victory, said to Mrs Canards, "Even Miss Hughes is in favour of holding a dance. Let"s set the date ladies, before anyone else raises any more frivolous concerns."

Jane, who was in agreement with her mother that it would be best if the meeting was not delayed any longer—mostly in fear that her mama might say something base again—quickly extracted an agreeable date from the group.

"It shall be held on the next full moon," Jane summarised, for travelling was easier under the light of a moon, "In the room above The Ring. Mrs Canards and Mrs Wickling shall be on ticketing duty, while the rest of us shall stay behind afterwards to clean."

"I shall confirm the date with the musicians," Mrs Price added, which sounded far more important a task than it actually was, given that the musicians numbered three and not one of them were likely to have any other plans of a winter"s evening.

"And I shall let Lord Crabb know of it," Mrs Mifford added, patting her curls importantly, "What a pity we did not know of this yesterday, for we were invited to dine with him last night."

With that settled—and with the room once again assured of her status as better—Mrs Mifford made a great show of gathering her things together, so that everyone might know that she considered the meeting at an end.

"I would like it noted, for the record, that Mrs Price and I have not settled our earlier disagreement," Mrs Canards huffed, as the ladies began to filter out, "I cannot stand idly by and allow the scones at the spring tea-party be contaminated by sub-par conserves."

As Mrs Price had already left, there was nothing that Jane could do bar dutifully note Mrs Canards" concerns in the minutes of the meeting, while making a mental note to feign a migraine the next month so she would not have to deal with the fallout.

Mrs Canards stalked out, with her nose in the air, leaving the Parish Hall empty, bar Sarah, who had lingered to help Jane put away the chairs.

"I apologise for my haste," Sarah called, as she swept around the room as fast as a shiny new Phaeton, "It"s just I dare not leave Prunella outside alone for too long."

"The wolves might pounce," Jane agreed, before adding thoughtfully, "The poor girl looks like a strong wind might knock her over."

"Yes," Sarah paused, her brow marred into a concerned frown, "My mama thinks she is pining for Lord Crabb; she said she was the same way herself when Papa went off to Oxford—unable to eat because she missed him so."

"I know," Sarah continued, as she caught Jane"s expression of disbelief, "It is difficult to fathom how it is so, given how ghastly he was. Poor creature, she cannot sit still in her grief; she takes herself out for long walks each day, but seems to return in a worse state than she left. I am glad that you suggested the assembly, Jane, for it is just what Prunella needs—an opportunity to be reminded that she is still young and gay."

"There is nothing like dancing to lift one"s spirits," Jane agreed, before casting a glance around the hall, "All looks in order.Thank you for your help, Sarah."

"Any time," Miss Hughes replied, with a smile.

Sarah took her leave and Jane followed suit, locking the door behind her and pocketing the key in her skirts. She would return it to Papa later, who was its custodian, despite never having set one foot inside the hall"s door.

Outside, Jane found Plumpton busy with midweek activity. The villagers flitted between the grocer, the butcher, and the poulterer, their baskets filled with wares, while carts, gigs, and carriages trundled along the cobblestones. Across from the Parish Hall, on the village green, several groups of ladies stood beneath bare-branched trees, no doubt discussing the events of the meeting.

Mrs Canards stood alongside Mrs Wickling, both shooting dagger-like stares at Mrs Price who—being in possession of a far more agreeable disposition than Mrs Canards—was surrounded by a large group of ladies.

The pure venom with which Mrs Canards looked at Mrs Price reminded Jane of the mystery of Lord Crabb"s death. Things which appeared trivial to one person, could incite rage in another. Was it possible that one of the viscount"s servants had succumbed to a murderous rage over an incident so minor that no one had made note of it, bar the offended?

The idea was a depressing one, for if it were true, it meant that Lord Crabb"s true killer might never be discovered.

Mrs Mifford, flanked by Emily and Eudora, then emerged from the grocers, enquiring loudly if anyone had seen Jane. Not wishing to spend the afternoon following her mama from this shop to that, Jane discreetly slipped away toward Lower Plumpton, to return home the long way, alongside the river.

There was not a soul in sight as Jane crossed the low bridge at the stream and veered down the wooded path which led to the riverside. Here, nature was her only companion, and a quiet one at that, given it was midwinter. The branches of the trees overhead were bare, populated only by the odd robin or blackbird, on the hunt for their supper.

Jane allowed her mind to wander as she walked. She thought on poor Prunella, who seemed so distraught, on Mr Allen, and how he so revered the Crabb family history, and on the new viscount, who had looked most handsome the previous evening—and had borne Mrs Mifford"s meddling with grace and dignity.

Any romantic notions she felt toward Lord Crabb would have to be abandoned, Jane thought mournfully, for her mama had gone out of her way to disgrace Jane at dinner. Lord Crabb would have to be very dense indeed to not have noticed Mrs Mifford"s flagrant matchmaking, and he would have to be very foolish to consider marrying into a family which was headed by a woman who could hold neither her wine nor her tongue.

Thoroughly disheartened, Jane traipsed on, trying not to think of the only option left over to her now—a season in London. How would she fare in town, she wondered, with all the eyes of the ton upon her? How did one find a husband, when the process of doing so was little more than an exercise in pageantry?

As she approached the bend in the river, where she usually took the short-cut over the fence, Jane sighted a familiar figure—Lord Crabb. He was standing, with his back to her, idly surveying the view as his mount grazed on the feeble winter offerings underfoot.

Was he...?

Jane shook her head, she was about to ask herself if Lord Crabb was waiting for her, but that would be most presumptuous.

Still, he started as she called his name, and when he turned his ears looked remarkably pink for a man usually so composed.

"Miss Mifford," he offered her a short, elegant bow as she approached, "What a surprise. I have been riding all morning and had just stopped a moment to appreciate the view."

As there was not much difference between this portion of the river and any other part, Jane was tempted to wonder if he was, perhaps, fibbing. Had he been waiting for her? He certainly seemed inclined to linger...

"I am just returning home from a meeting of the Plumpton Parish Ladies" Society," Jane replied, her insides too scattered to think of anything more interesting to say. Lord Crabb"s green eyes had the unnerving ability to make her mind turn to mush when they were focused on her. "We were discussing jam."

"Jam?"

"Among other things," Jane cleared her throat, annoyed that a handsome face had robbed her of her ability to form sentences, "We also discussed organising an assembly to welcome you properly to Plumpton, the only proviso to that taking place is your willingness to attend."

"I can think of nothing more delightful," Lord Crabb was gracious, "Though if I may stipulate one condition of my own? The first dance with the lovely Miss Mifford."

Jane flushed; he was flirting with her. Inexperienced as she was with the ways of men, even she could see his words were more than mere manners.

"I look forward to it, my lord," she replied honestly, as inwardly she wished that she were more of a coquette. A man like Lord Crabb was accustomed to ladies skilled in the art of flirting and game-playing—Jane knew that she must look provincial in his eyes.

Still, if Lord Crabb was unimpressed by her simple reply, he did not show it. In fact, he looked rather pleased.

"Another evening in the company of the Miffords," the viscount grinned, "I am blessed."

"Ah-ha," Jane laughed, "I believe I have caught you in an untruth, my lord; you cannot think yourself blessed at all, having endured my family"s rambunctious behaviour last night."

"I found your family most charming, Miss Mifford," Lord Crabb objected, though his eyes danced with mirth.

"Even my mother?" Jane deadpanned.

"Especially your mother," he assured her, his gallant words accompanied by a rather mischievous wink.

"Now I am certain that you are merely being polite," Jane grinned in return.

His manner was so easy and cheerful that, despite her natural reservedness, Jane chanced to broach a thought which had troubled her the previous evening.

"Might I ask, my lord?" she ventured, "Last night in the Long Room, as we surveyed the portraits of all the Crabbs throughout the ages, I came to wonder how the name Bonville came to infiltrate the line? I am not suggesting that there is anything improper about it, of course, but it is most unusual, and I wondered..."

"A very good question," Lord Crabb smiled in reply, though for the first time that afternoon, that same smile did not quite meet his eyes, "Bonville was my mother"s name; when I left the navy, I opted to use her name rather than my father"s."

"Oh," Jane was curious, but she did not like to press.

Her curiosity must have been writ across her face, however, for the viscount gave an amused laugh as he studied her reaction.

"My father was an officer in the navy," he explained, his tone kind but his manner a bit aloof, "He was often away at sea when I was a child, and even when he returned to dry land, he did not care to stay long in Southampton with Mama and I. I longed for his attention and approval, but he was not possessed of fatherly urges. After my mother died, I was passed around from one relative to the next, until Lord Crabb"s solicitor broke the news that Papa—and I in turn when he passed—were set to inherit the title."

Lord Crabb paused, his eyes looking not at Jane but into the past. His strong jaw was clenched, as though reliving the memories of his childhood angered him, but he soon returned to the present moment with a lazy shrug of his shoulders.

"Papa was all about me then," Lord Crabb laughed, "I was to live with him when not at Eton and be schooled and groomed in a manner befitting of a future viscount. You can"t imagine how pleased I was to finally have earned his esteem. When he passed the next year—a carriage accident, a sad way to go after such a distinguished career at sea—I was inconsolable. I vowed that I would spend the rest of my life trying to fulfil his ambitions."

Lord Crabb paused and offered Jane a wry smile. "Of course, the story does not end there," he continued, cheerfully, "I was a boy when my father died and I idolised him. It was only when I grew into manhood that I realised that I had made a child"s mistake in honouring the absent parent above the one who had always been present. The parent whose love had been offered without condition; my mother."

To her surprise, Jane found her eyes misting up at his confession. He offered her a sad smile in return and gave a weary shrug.

"Once I had come to understand that the true tragedy of my life was not my father"s passing but my mother"s, I felt somewhat liberated," he continued, more cheerful now, "I bought myself out of the navy and signed up for the East India Company under the name of Bonville. Under that moniker, I found it far easier to strive for my own goals and ambitions, rather than the ones I believed my father had for me."

"I am sure you have done your mother"s name proud," Jane offered, feeling a strange pang of grief for a woman she had never met.

"I hope so," Lord Crabb replied, solemnly.

A silence fell between them, but it was not in any way strained. In fact, it was rather pleasant. Birds chirped and sang above their heads and a brisk wind blew through bare branches, as Jane and Lord Crabb both pondered silently on his tale.

It was only when the viscount"s mount became restless that they both returned to the present.

"I must not keep you any longer, my lord," Jane said, offering him an excuse to leave, "I am certain that you have much to attend to. Have you gleaned any insight into Mr Allen or Miss Bridges?"

Lord Crabb cleared his throat and gave a short nod.

"I am working on it, Miss Mifford," he assured her, though for some strange reason he looked almost abashed.

"Do let me know if you need my help," Jane offered and the viscount nodded his agreement.

She bid him goodbye and left the path, to take the shortcut back to Primrose Cottage. Unlike their first meeting, the temptation to turn her head to see if he still lingered was too much for Jane to resist. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder and was relieved to see that Lord Crabb was still standing on the spot in which she had left him, his gaze trained thoughtfully her way.

Don"t read anything into it, Jane cautioned her buoyant spirits, but it was too late. Hope had sprung in Jane"s breast and though she feared that Lord Crabb might one day dash it, she could not help but want to hold onto it a while longer.