7 Bertram Has An Idea

In the Red Saloon, the dance Bertram and Bea were supposed to be a part of was going on without them. Lady Esther swept regally through the room, neatly dispatching Bertram's mother to her vigilance by the windows and ordering Bertram to follow. Her exact words were, "Would you be so good as to bear my daughter company while she recovers her composure, Mr Atherton?" but it felt very like an order to Bertram.

Lady Esther found two seats for them in the room set aside for refreshments, and summoned a footman to bring two glasses of wine. "There, you will go on perfectly well now, Beatrice, and Mr Atherton will take good care of you while I return to my duties as hostess." So saying, she sailed out of the room without a backwards glance. The few others also seeking refreshments there watched her go, then turned back to their own conversations.

"You must not mind her," Bea said. "She's so used to people jumping at her every word that she's come to expect it, but she means no harm by it, none at all. I'm sure you understand that. Oh… our wine… thank you, James." She took a large gulp, then went on , "I do hope your mother is not offended."

"No, I am sure—"

"It was so kind of her to come out with the shawl for me, so very kind. So very timely… just at the right time, and I'm so very grateful…" Another gulp of wine. "I like your mother very much."

"So do—"

"Yes, a lovely lady, quite lovely, and so very kind. How thoughtful of her to rush out like that when…" An even larger gulp of wine. "…when she must fear the night air so much on her own account. So very brave!"

She raised the glass to her lips again, but Bertram reached out and took it from her, setting it down on the table beside them. "You might wish to drink a shade more slowly, Miss Franklyn."

She giggled and put one hand over her mouth, but her eyes were laughing up at him. Then, abruptly, her mood changed. Settling her hands demurely in her lap, she said more soberly, "I am very sorry, Bertram. Whatever must you think of me? I have been babbling, have I not?"

"I like your babbling. Do you realise that your accent develops more than a hint of your Newcastle origins when you are excited?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, pray do not say so to Mama! The hours she has spent teaching me to speak properly - you would not believe it. I was not a very apt pupil, and I still struggle to talk correctly, as you have observed."

"I find it rather charming," he said. "You may take another sip of wine now — just a small one, mind."

"You are very kind — kinder than I deserve," she said in a subdued voice, taking a tiny sip and carefully setting the glass down again.

"Are you quite well, Miss Franklyn?" he said teasingly. "This meek tone is not at all what I have come to expect from you."

"No. You think me mannerless, I dare say," she said. "Brash. Bumptious. Thoroughly obnoxious."

"Full of energy," he said. "Enthusiastic. Animated, and let me tell you, that is a great deal better than being spiritless and drooping, like so many fashionable young ladies."

"Oh." She looked up at him with a hint of a smile. "Then you do not hate me?"

"Hate you? Heavens, no! Why on earth should I?"

"Because I almost— Well, never mind. But you dislike me?"

"Not at all."

She lowered her voice and leaned towards him. "Then are you going to be so obliging as to offer for me?"

He lowered his voice too. "I am not, Miss Franklyn. Sorry as I am to disappoint you, marriage has no part to play in my future."

"What a pity," she said in her normal voice, "when we get along so admirably, too." But then she laughed. "Nevertheless, I do not yet despair of changing your mind on the subject. Shall we have that dance now?"

He laughed, too, and held out his hand to her. It was impossible to be cross with such a good-humoured girl for very long.

When Bertram had finally abandoned Bea and was looking about for his next partner, he saw Miss Parish sitting quietly in a corner, watching the newly formed set avidly. She was a cousin to the Cathcarts, and recently orphaned.

"Well, Miss Parish," he said, taking the seat beside her, "what do you think of the dancing so far? Are we not an energetic lot?"

"Oh, yes," she said in her soft voice, blushing fiercely.

"Who do you think is the best dancer?"

"I… I cannot say."

"Very diplomatic. I would say my cousin Olivia is the most graceful of the ladies, but for the gentlemen, and it pains me to say so, the palm must go to Mr Franklyn. I never saw a man of his age dance so well. He quite outshines the rest of us." He paused, but when she said nothing, he went on, "I know you are still in black gloves for your father, but in a setting such as this, amongst friends, it would not be improper for you to dance, surely? May I have the honour?"

"Oh… no, no! Indeed, no." Then, after a long pause she whispered, "Thank you."

"Then I shall stay and enjoy your company, Miss Parish."

"No, no, you must not… look there, Aveline… Miss Cathcart…"

He looked where she indicated and saw Aveline Cathcart watching him hopefully. With a smile, therefore, he rose, bowed, and went to claim his designated partner. At least she could talk sensibly, unlike Miss Parish.

"She does not dance," Aveline said, as they waited for the musicians to begin.

"The black gloves—?"

"No, she has never learnt. She plays divinely, but she does not dance at all."

"I know her mother died young, but surely her father had her educated?" Bertram said.

"If one could call it education. She knows all about engines and spinning machinery and the cost of flax, and she darns stockings admirably, but she cannot paint or embroider, and she thanks the servants for doing their work."

"Such good manners are refreshing," Bertram said, offended on Miss Parish's behalf.

"There is no accounting for taste," Aveline said, with a curl of the lip.

Bertram had nothing else to say to her, and they remained silent for the rest of the dance. He noted, almost without thinking, that Julia and Penelope were dancing but Emily was not. She sat in a corner with Mother, watching surreptitiously, but averting her eyes with a blush whenever a man looked her way. Shyness was a terrible affliction, and Bertram might have been no better, had not several years at Harrow and then Cambridge knocked it out of him.

When released from Miss Cathcart"s sneering company, he ambled over to Emily and led her across the room to where Miss Parish sat. They had met before, in that they had been introduced and occasionally spent some time in the same room, but they had never before had an opportunity to talk to each other. Being so similar in age and temper, he was not surprised to see them soon chatting comfortably together.

As he turned his attention to his next partner, and wondered if he might escape to the card room now, he found Kent by his side, a mischievous grin on his face. "Have you escaped unscathed from Bea Franklyn's clutches, cousin? Or are you even now preparing to return tomorrow for the necessary interview with her father?"

"No interview, cousin," Bertram said, with an easy laugh. "I am not so easily caught."

"And yet she contrived to get you outside, did she not? If you had been discovered kissing her in the garden—"

"There was no kissing and we were not in the garden," Bertram said sharply. "We were on the terrace in full view of anyone near the windows. Indeed, Mother saw us and rushed out to swathe Miss Franklyn in a shawl, lest she fall ill with some putrid fever after five minutes out of doors."

"Aunt Jane saw you and rushed out to ensure you were not compromised, you mean," Kent said, with a wry grin. "Take care, cousin, or you will be leg-shackled yet."

With a languid wave, he ambled away, leaving Bertram in an odd mixture of fury and chagrin. Had he been naive? Had Bea led him out onto the terrace in order to compromise him? It was an unsettling thought, and her behaviour at the time and afterwards — her obvious agitation, the babbling, her unusual nervousness — all suggested it. And yet she had not proposed anything improper. There had been no attempt to kiss him, nor to lead him down into the darkness of the garden, and it was malicious of Kent to suggest otherwise.

When the Athertons left, there was a rearrangement, such that Bertram's sisters and brother travelled together in the second carriage, and Bertram was in the first with his parents. Barely had the horses begun to move before his mother said, "I was a little concerned this evening, Bertram."

"Were you, Mother? In what regard?"

"Regarding Bea Franklyn. She is a mischievous creature, and I should hate to see you taken in by her wiles."

"Mother, I know you mean well, but Miss Franklyn is as good-hearted a girl as ever breathed, and I will not hear her impugned in this way. Far from being wily, she has been utterly straightforward in all her dealings with me. She has told me openly that she intends to persuade me to the altar, and I have told her openly that she will not succeed in that objective."

"But she is so very enticing, dear."

"Just because we stood up for one dance does not mean that there is enticement going on. I am perfectly capable of resisting the charms of a young lady, you know. I have been doing it for years, after all."

"Bertram, dear, few men are proof against a truly obstinate woman. Look at Walter, after all… or his father, come to that. He was looking in quite a different direction when Caroline got her claws into him. All men have their weaknesses and a woman like Bea Franklyn will always seek them out."

"You make her sound like a manipulative harpy, full of schemes and devices."

"And is she not full of schemes?" his mother said in her gentle way. "Inveigling you out onto the terrace in that underhanded manner! If I had not gone out after you—"

"She was hot and wanted some air," Bertram said huffily. "You refine too much upon a perfectly innocent event."

"Very well, dear," she said calmly.

Bertram was cross the whole way home.

***

Bea prepared for bed, but did not attempt to sleep. Instead, she wrapped herself in a robe, lit several candles and waited for the inevitable visit from her stepmother.

It was half an hour before she came, arrayed in an extremely expensive lace confection under her silk wrap, with a matching nightcap. "Oh good, you are still awake, because we must put our heads together and see how we may redeem the situation. Goodness, but I could have slapped that interfering Jane Atherton, poking her nose in where it is not at all wanted, and when all was progressing so advantageously. You did so well to get him out onto the terrace, and in another moment you would have been down the steps and into the garden, and then we should have had him well and truly caught in our web."

"That is horrid!" Bea said. "I am not a spider, and Bertram is not a fly — he is a man who ought to have a free choice in who he marries, or if he marries at all."

"Where would we be if every man took it into his head to choose where he marries?" Lady Esther said, with an airy wave of her hand. "It is very much in Bertram's own interests to marry you, as he will realise once you are safely wed. But we are very short of time, and I cannot arrange another evening party, not at such short notice. It will have to be an afternoon affair — a Venetian breakfast, perhaps."

"Mama…"

"The weather might be a problem, but so long as you can get him outside and wandering here and there, our plan can still work. Such a pity the maze is not well grown enough to provide concealment, but the shrubbery will do very well, and if it should come on to rain, why then you will have the perfect excuse to seek shelter in the Grecian Temple… or even better, the Grotto. Yes, that should work. We shall not let him slip through our fingers again. Good night, Beatrice."

***

Bertram woke abruptly, with a line of his friend's letter running through his head.

‘We are all bidden to bring spinsters of our own to Landerby so that Her Grace may exercise her match-making skills'.

He leapt out of bed, and raced across the room to his writing desk, pulling the paper out from the receptacle for letters still to be answered, and scanned it carefully once more. Spinsters… Her Grace the Duchess of Wedhamption wanted spinsters, and it was very possible that Bertram could oblige her. Landerby Manor would be stuffed to its ancient, worm-eaten rafters with scions of the nobility — he counted three amongst his own particular friends — which would provide plenty of opportunity for Bea to climb the ladder of society, and if her grace was to be there, even Lady Esther could not object.

At breakfast, therefore, he said to his mother, "When are you planning to call at Highwood Place to thank Lady Esther for her hospitality?"

"Today, I thought. It was not a ball, so one does not absolutely need to call the very next day, but neither was it a mere dinner engagement. It would be a pleasing attention to a neighbour to call sooner rather than later. Why do you ask?"

"I shall come with you, if I may. I can sit on the box, so that you will not be crushed inside."

"Oh… as to that, I shall only take Julia. Emily should rest after the exertions of last night, and Penelope is in disgrace for dancing three times with that Scottish fellow. He may be excessively handsome and charming and so forth, but he is neither betrothed to her nor likely to be, given his lack of fortune, and therefore not to be danced with more than twice, or better still, only once. It is not as if there had been any shortage of partners, and you are only sixteen, Penelope, and not even properly out yet."

"Oh pooh," Penelope said. "At an informal evening like that, no one counts dances, and besides, his cousin is a baron, he told me, so he is very eligible."

"Your mother counted," her father said, "and if Mr Alexander were himself a baron with an estate in good order and were to apply for your hand in… oh, two or three years, say, perhaps I might consider his suit, but until then, you will not dance with him or any other young man more than once. Bertram, why this ardour to call at Highwood? Has Miss Franklyn managed to infiltrate your heart?"

Bertram laughed. "Certainly not! However, her persistence is becoming annoying. It occurred to me that her objectives and mine might both be secured if I can obtain an invitation for her to Landerby Manor."

"Where you will both be living under the same roof," his mother said waspishly, "and she will be able to chip away at your resolve every hour of the day. It is madness, Bertram."

"Give me credit for a little sense, Mother. She will have to agree to quit her pursuit of me before any invitations are issued."

"She will agree to anything if it brings her closer to her aim," his mother said darkly.

His father set down his coffee cup with a snap. "I am of Bertram's mind in this, Jane. Bea Franklyn is not a perfect lady, by any means, but she has never struck me as sly or underhanded in any way. Let Bertram talk to her and see what may be achieved."

***

Bea and Lady Esther had risen indulgently late, and so had only just begun the work of planning the Venetian breakfast when Hobbs came into their parlour.

"Beg pardon, my lady, but Mrs George Atherton is here, together with Miss Atherton and Mr Bertram Atherton. Are you at home?"

"Bertram?" Bea squeaked in astonishment.

"Naturally we are at home," her stepmother said, with no more than a blink of surprise. "The terrace, I think, Hobbs. The eastern terrace. The view over the shrubbery is so pleasantly green at this time of year. Bring suitable refreshments." As soon as the butler had withdrawn, she turned to Bea excitedly. "This is a very good sign, Beatrice. You must be sure to capitalise on it this time. You will propose a walk in the gardens, and then lead him away from the house and into the shrubbery. I will come after you in a little while. Come, let us greet our guests."

Bea said nothing. She was very happy to see Bertram, naturally, for what could be more pleasing than a man who pays a duty call at the very first opportunity? But a sleepless night and the prodding of her conscience had led her to the conclusion that she could never be comfortable trapping a man into marriage. She would pursue Bertram with every fibre of her being, but there would be no disappearing into the shrubbery to trick him into a compromising kiss.

They met their visitors in the hall, and then out onto the terrace, where Father emerged from his study to join them. There was a slight breeze, and at first Mrs Atherton baulked at being out of doors at all, but Hobbs brought shawls for Bea and her stepmother, and the Atherton ladies were well-clad in stout pelisses, so it was deemed safe to venture forth.

For a while they all sat about decorously making polite conversation. The events of the evening before were gone over, congratulations offered and accepted for the success of the party, and there was a general air of complacency that so many people had gathered in one spot and yet no disaster had befallen them. Bea and Bertram were seated side by side, but said little, until Bertram said into a lull in the conversation, "Shall we all stroll about a little? What do you say, Miss Franklyn?"

That was a surprise indeed! Bea could only nod, while, one by one, the others demurred. "We shall admire your energy from our comfortable seats," her father said, reaching for his wine glass.

Now Bea could not be comfortable. She knew perfectly well what her stepmother expected of her, but she could not… she absolutely could not do it. How unfair it would be to Bertram and what a dreadful start to married life to secure him by treachery. So they walked here and there, and he talked easily about nothing in particular, and she began to feel that in another minute or two she could profess to be feeling chilled and ask to return to the house.

But then he startled her even more. "Shall we sit? That bench over there, perhaps… it is quite sheltered from the wind, but still in clear view of my mother, who is watching us anxiously from the terrace."

"Is she? But why?"

"In case I thoughtlessly allow you to grow chilled, for that leads to inflammation of the lungs, you see, and then a putrid fever, whereupon you will certainly be dead within three days. A cool breeze is invariably fatal in Mother's eyes. So we will not stretch her nerves for too long, but there is something I should like to talk about."

"Oh. Not an offer, I suppose?" she said teasingly, as she sat on the bench he indicated.

He settled himself beside her, his long legs stretched out before him. "I am afraid not, but it is on that subject, in a way. I should like to understand your mind fully. When you set out to marry first Walter and then me, is it the particular title to which we are heir that attracts you, or would another title do as well? Or is it Corland Castle that entices you?"

This was plain speaking indeed, but she very much liked such a direct approach. "Not the castle, no — such a great echoing place, and so cold! Highwood is not exactly cosy, but at least one is not chilled to the bone all year round. And I do not care about that title in particular."

"So you would be happy with another title… any title? You want to be noble?"

"I want to be a Lady, Bertram. I am so tired of being plain Miss Franklyn whose father was an attorney and whose fortune came from iron foundries. There is something terribly dispiriting and… well, industrial about iron foundries, do you not think?"

"What does it matter where the money came from?" he said.

"Oh, believe me, it matters! When Papa inherited all his money, all our friends in Newcastle drew away from us. They thought we were too far above them now. So when Papa married Mama, I thought we would find a level amongst her people. But no, they are too grand to admit the likes of us to their ranks. They not only despise Papa and me, they despise Mama, too, because she married beneath her. She married a commoner, you see. So I decided that I would marry a nobleman and then they would have to acknowledge me and treat me with respect. And when we moved here, you… all the Athertons were kind to us, and never made us feel inferior. So that is why I chose Walter first, and then you, because you don't despise me and will make me a Lady."

"Suppose," he said, slowly, smiling his gentle smile, "that I could find you another nobleman to marry? One who could make you a Lady straight away and not at some indeterminate point in the future?"

"Can you do that?"

"I can try. I shall be spending a month at Landerby Manor, which will be full of noblemen, particular friends of mine, and two of them at least I know for a fact are looking to marry."

"Truly? And they already have titles?"

"They do. The brother of a duke, and a viscount. And, as an outside possibility, what would you say to the heir to a dukedom? Should you like to be a duchess?"

Her heart beat a little faster. "Oh, Bertram!" she whispered. "I should outrank Mama."

He laughed. "So you would. How very gratifying that would be, and I can ensure that you are invited to Landerby, but there is one condition."

"Ah. I knew there would be a catch."

"You must promise me you will stop pursuing me, and not just at Landerby — forever, Bea."

"But nothing may come of it."

"Then I shall find some other way to help you achieve your ambition, but I have no intention of marrying, and I do not wish you to waste your time on a project doomed to failure. Will you promise? If I obtain an invitation for you to Landerby, you will leave me alone forthwith?"

"I will."

"Then let us go and put the idea to your mama."