‘How shocking! I mean, was he so?’ said Emma.
Captain Fremantle smiled at her again delightfully, displaying two rows of brilliantly white teeth. His eyes sparkled.
‘Athelbald was a most scandalous villain, I assure you! But luckily his sins came home to roost and he was murdered by his own bodyguard, after which his cousin, Offa (of Offa’s dyke), soon succeeded in restoring order.’
‘I am very glad of that,’ observed Emma.
‘But the situation of this property here – by the river, you see, very important for transport in those days, when so much of the country was still covered by impenetrable forest – especially the Weald – makes the royal attribution highly probable. There are other possible owners – Cynewulf was another king of the West Saxons, defeated by Offa in 777; or, for that matter, it might be Cwichelm, a previous king who died in 636. Cwichelm defeated the Britons at Beandun, but was himself defeated by Eadwine of Northumbria in 626. (However, he lived to be baptized ten years later.)’
‘I am very glad that he did not die in the battle,’ said Emma. ‘What a great number of kings these West Saxons seem to have had.’
Captain Fremantle gave her another of his delightful smiles.
‘And I daresay that you, like most other inhabitants of this land, consider that what took place between 55 B.C. and 1066 A.D. is of supremely little importance. But I promise you that, once you turn your attention to that period, you will find it of the most engrossing interest. It has occupied and absorbed my mind during many a long and uneventful sea-voyage. And some that were, if anything, too eventful.’
‘I think that you should come and make the acquaintance of my father,’ said Emma, ‘if you are visiting this neighbourhood for an extended period. He, too, has a great respect for King Alfred and dearly likes to read history.’
‘I should ask nothing better! I have heard from my cousin of your father’s great erudition and keen intelligence; I should esteem it a privilege to meet him. Unfortunately my stay here is likely to be of fairly short duration. But if, during that time—’
Mrs Blake’s call interrupted him.
‘Come, Miss Osborne; come, Cousin Matthew. I think we have incommoded Miss Watson and Miss Emma for quite long enough; we should be on our way. And Lady Osborne will no doubt be impatient for Miss Osborne’s report.’
‘Do you think that your sister will really be able to move into the house quite soon, Miss Watson?’ eagerly demanded Miss Osborne.
‘So Mr Dawkins assures me.’
‘But something tells me that Lady Osborne will not be among those who come to call on Penelope and Dr Harding when they are installed here,’ Emma remarked to Elizabeth in a dry undertone, as the Osborne Park phaeton rattled away out of the courtyard.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Elizabeth, do you know what Lady Osborne has done?’
In a tone of outrage, Emma told her sister of the untimely end of little Fido.
Elizabeth shook her head, equally shocked, but a great deal less startled.
‘I have heard other such stories of her behaviour when provoked. Her anger can be quite ruthless. If servants incur her wrath, they are dismissed on the spot; an old coachman who would not drive along a snowy lane was given his marching orders then and there . . . and I believe that, when they were younger, she treated her children very harshly—’
‘What can Mr Howard see in her?’ cried Emma vehemently, as Elizabeth turned the mare and began driving back along the riverside road.
‘I fear, Emma, that he sees which side his bread is buttered on.’
‘But he is a good man! A man of principle and good sense!’
‘Perhaps he hopes to help her mend her ways.’
‘Ha! I see small chance of that. After all, she must be nearly fifty years of age. Persons that old are not liable to change; they are much too confirmed in their manners and habits. How can he possibly endure the prospect that lies ahead of him?’
Emma’s voice, her whole demeanour were so distressed that Elizabeth, who loved her sister and wished to shield her from needless pain, said briskly, ‘Well, there is nothing we can do for him. He has made his bed, he must lie on it. And everybody agrees that Lady Osborne dotes on him. I daresay they will settle down together comfortably enough. What did you think of Captain Fremantle? Mrs Blake was giving me his history while you talked together; he lost an arm, poor fellow, at the battle of Occa Bay; he has been home on furlough, for it did not mend as it should and he was consulting a physician in London, but now he is soon to return to his ship—’
Emma was gazing at her sister in horror.
‘He lost an arm?’
‘Yes, did you not observe? He had his sleeve pinned to his waistcoat.’
‘I never noticed.’ Emma was appalled. ‘How could I have been so inattentive – so unobservant? I suppose I was watching his face – listening to what he had to say. His face is so—’
‘Oh well, I daresay the captain prefers it that way.’ Elizabeth was untroubled. ‘Mrs Blake says that he does not like the injury referred to – makes as little of it as he can. Oh, by the bye, I have discovered why Penelope is not too greatly concerned about this winding approach; they are felling the avenue at the back, and cutting a new driveway across the shoulder of the hill . . .’
Chapter 6
The night of the Dorking Assembly finally arrived, and Emma, whose wrist was now almost entirely recovered, drove her sister into the town; according to long-established custom, Elizabeth would dine and spend the night with the hospitable Edwards family, and she hoped, while there, to acquire more information as to the legacy from the uncle in Plymouth and poor Sam’s blighted prospects.
‘Though I shall feel decidedly awkward,’ she said. ‘This legacy seems to create a gulf between myself and Mary Edwards – we used to be such friends – but now I shall not know how to be comfortable with her. And Mrs Edwards always wears such a reserved air, and behaves with such formal civility; if only you were coming too, Emma! You are so much easier in genteel society than I; it is the result of all those years with Aunt Turner.’
‘Oh, my poor aunt,’ sighed Emma. ‘How I wish that word might come from her.’ So far, none had arrived. ‘But, Elizabeth, you are not to be talking like this! You will look most becomingly, in your new cloak, your hair is a triumph and does us both credit – never mind the reserves or the formalities of Mrs Edwards or Miss Edwards! I wish you to feel completely at ease, to spend a thoroughly enjoyable evening, dance every dance, and, if possible, refuse an application from Lord Osborne because of a prior engagement.’
‘Not much chance of that, dear Emma,’ said Elizabeth, laughing, as they drew up outside the handsome house of Mr Edwards, its street frontage guarded by white posts and chains. ‘But I hope that your evening proves equally agreeable in a different way. It is kind of Mrs Blake to come in and sit with you.’
‘Yes, we shall have a fine gossip and tear Lady Osborne’s character to shreds between us,’ Emma said, as a footman in livery with a powdered wig opened the front door. She waved her sister a fond goodbye and turned the mare in the wide street, observing as she did so that Lord Osborne and Tom Musgrave were riding along, not far away, deep in conversation. So engrossed were they with one another, that they did not at all observe Emma, in her humble conveyance, passing them on the other side of the road at a brisk trot – for well the old mare knew that now she was on her way home. But Emma, glancing back, was startled to observe the pair of gentlemen halt and dismount at the door of the Edwards mansion.
Well! she thought. My sister Elizabeth is about to have more society than she reckoned for! And, furthermore, if the gentlemen are calling in order to solicit Miss Edwards’s hand for a pair of dances apiece, they can hardly avoid offering the same civility to Elizabeth; which will get her evening off to an excellent start. It certainly looks as if the
Edwardses are right in their belief that Lord Osborne is paying attentions to Mary Edwards; I think she would be far better off with our dear brother Sam, and, from the way she blushed when she said that I resembled him, I do not believe she is entirely indifferent to Sam, poor girl! But still, she will live in a castle and be called Lady Osborne; I suppose her parents think it a fair bargain, and she is bound to fall in with their wishes.
Arriving home, Emma drove the pony-chair round to the yard, and led the mare into her stable. When she entered the parsonage by the back door, old Nanny told her that Mrs Blake was already come, not five minutes before.
‘So I showed her into the parlour, Miss Emma, knowing that was what you would wish. There’s a nice fire, and she had the gentleman with her to keep her company.’
‘The gentleman?’ Emma’s heart leapt foolishly. ‘Mr Howard, you mean?’
‘No, no, miss, the gentleman as is staying with Mr Howard (he’s gone to the ball with Lady Osborne and the castle folks). I mean the poor gentleman with only one hand.’
‘Oh, dear me—’
‘So I told the master they were here, Miss Emma, and he says to ask will you be so kind as to help him downstairs. For he’d like to take a dish of tea with the gentleman, Captain Fremantle. Seems he was acquainted with his father many years ago when they was both at Cambridge college.’
Emma made haste into the house and put her head round the parlour door to say: ‘Will you both excuse me for five minutes while I assist Papa to come down? I know he will be very happy to see Captain Fremantle.’
Upstairs she found her father already endeavouring to put himself into the thick, monk-like woollen robe in which he was accustomed to entertain guests if they came after the dinner-hour. He had got the cords in a tangle and his slippers on the wrong feet. He submitted patiently to being put right.
‘Thank you, my dear. Just imagine, the son of my old friend Gareth Fremantle – Gaiters Fremantle, we used to call him, even then, at Cambridge, and that was many years before he became a bishop, as he is now . . . It will be a great pleasure, a great pleasure indeed, to see his son . . . Now I think I am presentable, my dear Emma.’
She escorted him carefully down the stairs and into the parlour, while Nanny came clucking to and fro with trays of tea-things.
‘Though I imagine it is likely, my dear Fremantle, that you would prefer a beverage somewhat stronger than tea?’ suggested Mr Watson, when the introductions had been completed and they were all sitting comfortably round the fire.
‘On the contrary, my dear sir! Tea is just what I like. At sea, you know, we may be obliged to go for long periods without tea – pea-soup is about our nearest approach to it. So to drink a dish of real tea is, to me, nothing less than a treat.’
‘Tell me, now, about your family. You are the youngest son?’
‘Yes, sir. My brother George followed my father into the church, and no doubt will likewise, in due course, become a bishop.’
‘Gaiters Fremantle, yes, yes, indeed. At Cambridge, you know, even then, thirty years ago, we all called your father Gaiters Fremantle.’
The bishop’s son, who had already heard this story twice, grinned his infectious, endearing grin at Emma.
‘Just so, sir! My next brother, Frank, went into the army, the Guards, under the command of Sir Harry Burrard – no gaiters for him – and, as I was the youngest, that left the navy for me.’
‘And doubtless one day you will be an admiral.’
‘No, sir, such is not my ambition. If it were not for the national emergency, I had planned to become an historian. That is my real preference.’
‘Ah yes! My daughter Emma was telling me that you have a theory as to the Clissocks property having once belonged to the estate of Ceawlin or Caedwalla. Now, my dear sir: I hesitate to contradict a guest in my house on such exceedingly short acquaintance – but it is by far more probable that Cynegils, who, as you must know, controlled Wessex—’
Captain Fremantle’s eyes sparkled. He beamed disarmingly and said, ‘Ah! Perhaps, sir – but, just the same – with due deference—’
In no time they were at it, hammer and tongs.
Emma, pouring tea, said softly to Mrs Blake, ‘Oh, this is so good for my father! He is loving it. I believe he has not enjoyed an argument such as this since my mother’s brother, my uncle Francis, used to come and dispute with him about historical matters – see how he waves his hands about . . .’
‘I only hope that it does not prove too fatiguing for him. It was taking a great liberty to bring Cousin Matthew to call, but he did not wish to accompany my brother to the Assembly – his dancing days are over, he says; and he was so very anxious to make your father’s acquaintance. I can see that he is enjoying their talk quite as much as your father. It takes his mind off his arm . . .’ Mrs Blake sipped her tea and added after a moment, ‘What a very fortunate circumstance it is, my dear Emma, that your sister Mrs Harding proposes to establish herself in that romantic house. How many pleasant visits we shall have there – what historical discussions, and excursions, and explorations. I have yet to meet your sister Penelope, but if she is like yourself and Miss Watson, I greatly look forward to meeting her.’
Emma tried to imagine Penelope and Dr Harding taking pleasure in an argument such as this; she failed to do so. ‘I do not believe that my sister Penelope is very interested in history,’ she said doubtfully. ‘But perhaps, having come to live in a dwelling of such antiquarian importance, she will acquire the taste.’ Privately, Emma thought this unlikely.
‘Is your sister fond of Nature? Will she delight in the woods and the river and the hillsides?’
‘I – I really am not sure,’ Emma was obliged to confess.
In fact the more she thought about it, the more she wondered why in the world Penelope and the doctor had selected such an unsuitable dwelling-place.
‘Cousin Matthew,’ said Mrs Blake presently, ‘I think it is high time that we retired. Mr Watson is an invalid, we must not forget. We must not exhaust him. And remember also that you plan to catch the early mail-coach to Portsmouth tomorrow.’
‘I am indeed reluctant to break off this delightful discourse,’ sighed Mr Watson. He gazed with genuine regret at Captain Fremantle. ‘And I am sorry about your arm, my dear boy, very sorry. But while you were at sea you have been keeping your wits razor-sharp; so long as you do that, and continue adding to your stock of learning, you will do very well. The loss of an arm is not the end of the world.’
‘Thank you, sir. You are perfectly right. And I am surpassingly glad to have had this opportunity to meet you – and some of your family.’
‘Our guests should have a stirrup cup to speed them on their way,’ Mr Watson now suggested to his daughter. ‘When your father and I were lads, Captain Fremantle, we were wont to drink a cup of hot chocolate, accompanied by rum, in our college rooms of an evening – a most excellent, heartening beverage it was, both invigorating and sustaining. I think, my dear Emma, that I should fancy a small dram of it now; and I am sure Captain Fremantle will bear me company.’
Captain Fremantle’s eyes sought those of Emma in query.
‘Are you sure, my dear sir?’ said Mrs Blake doubtfully.
‘Yes, yes! I have enjoyed it many a time. Pray, Emma, ask our good Nanny to prepare it.’
But Nanny had long since gone off to bed, so Emma herself prepared hot chocolate in the kitchen and brought it, with the rum separately, on a tray, to the parlour.
‘Excellent, excellent,’ said Mr Watson, adding a substantial measure of spirit to his cup of chocolate. ‘I do not know when I last took such pleasure in discussion. You have brought back old times, Captain Fremantle. Pray remember me to your good father, when you write to him next. Gaiters Fremantle, we used to call him,’ he chuckled reminiscently.
‘And I, too, my dear sir, after I have rejoined my ship tomorrow, I shall very
, very often find myself thinking of this pleasant hour.’ Captain Fremantle’s smiling eyes met those of Emma. He added, ‘Miss Watson, you make the very best chocolate that I have ever tasted.’
‘And I,’ she said quietly, ‘I also have enjoyed listening to you and Papa. I should like to know more about those Saxon kings.’
‘Would you? Then I shall take the first opportunity of sending you a book about them – if you would care to read it?’
‘I should like that very much.’
‘Then it shall be done.’
After the guests had departed, Emma helped her father up to bed. He sighed, ‘If only we could pass an evening like that more often! Howard and Purvis are two excellent fellows, but they always behave as if they were afraid of over-exciting me; they are so very deferential in their behaviour. Now, this young fellow—’
‘They mean it for the best, I am sure, Papa.’
‘But now I feel as if I shall sleep very well. Thank you, Emma, my dear. Just leave the bedside candle burning. I shall blow it out by and by, when I have said my prayers and regulated my thoughts.’
Emma tiptoed away. She left her own bedroom door open, so that she was able to see the reflected gleam of the candle-light on the landing wall. Once or twice she tiptoed out and peered round the corner, but her father was still reading his prayer-book. When at length she fell asleep, the light still shone. But when, hours later, as dawn began to break, she softly entered her father’s room, the candle had guttered to its socket. Her father lay dead, with the bedclothes untidily flung about, as if he had heaved and twisted himself from side to side in his struggle with death; it had not been an easy fight, or a willing surrender. Emma, frightened and distressed at the evidence of this solitary, losing battle, felt an urgent duty to straighten him out, close his mouth and eyes, wipe his face, make all things neat and pull the covers smoothly over him, before she summoned old Nanny.