Stranger at the Manor by Mary Kingswood

11: Langridge Hall

The gates of Langridge Hall were soon reached and the carriage stopped at the gatehouse to ask directions to Linch’s cottage. It was easily found, one of a little cluster of neat cottages beside the stew ponds, where chickens and geese roamed about, and a milkmaid was placidly at her duties outside a dairy. Peter spotted Linch at once, hard at work with his spade in his patch of garden, with two of his children helping out.

Linch saw him and waved, a huge smile across his thin face. “Peter! I heard from the attorney that Low Hill was sold and for a good price. That is a relief! But how are you? Come inside — Kitty will want to see you.”

“I cannot stay long, Ken. We are going on into Leeds, but I will come and see you tomorrow.”

“We?”

“I have a lady with me, who is helping with a project for my cousin.”

“A lady, eh?” Linch gave him a knowing look. “I see.”

“Now, stop that. Ah, Kitty! How are you?”

And in no time at all, Peter found himself being ushered into the house with Miss Beasley, with tea and Madeira and cakes provided, and smiling faces all around them. The house was not large, but it was comfortably furnished and there was a manservant and a maid.

“You see how well situated we are here,” Linch said. “Lord Silberry has been kindness itself to us. He knew nothing of our plight, for he was down in London, but as soon as he returned he came at once to find me and offer us this house.”

“At least we can all be together, Peter,” Kitty said. “It near broke my heart to be separated from Ken. He was at his sister’s, and Tommy and Jack went to my brother, for he found room at the vicarage, and I squeezed in with my sister. I had the three youngest with me, which was a comfort, but still, it was hard. This is much better. We’re getting all the fruit and vegetables we want from the kitchen garden, just until our own is producing, and we get game and all sorts from the house, too. We want for nothing.”

“Even wine,” Linch said, raising his glass to Peter.

“This reduced style of living is not what you are used to,” Peter said quietly.

“It’s what I’m used to,” Kitty said with a quick laugh. “I grew up on an estate very much like this one, so I feel right at home, and Ken’s not gentry, either. Not like you. It was worse for you, losing the family house. But your cousin has been kind to you, so your letters said.”

“Yes, I have been very fortunate, and I am repaying his kindness by getting his finances shipshape again. That is one of the reasons we are here, in fact.”

But before he could explain further, a horse could be heard arriving outside, and a man’s voice.

“Lord Silberry,” Kitty said in an undertone, glancing out of the window. “He often calls here. You do not object, Peter?”

He shook his head quickly, but there was no time to say more, for the door opened and the manservant announced his lordship. His eyes skimmed the room, then fell on Peter.

“Winslade! My dear fellow! The lodge keeper told me you were here, which gives me the opportunity to express in person my deepest regret for the disaster I have caused you. Can you ever forgive me? If I had known what was occurring, I could, perhaps, have taken steps to prevent it. I am not without friends who might have helped, if I had asked it of them. But by the time I returned from town, all was lost. But tell me how I may help you now — a house? Employment? Whatever is within my power shall be done, I assure you.”

It was impossible to dislike Lord Silberry. He was a widower of perhaps five and forty, with the sort of pleasing manners which made one feel as if one had known him for ever, and would willingly trust him with one’s life. He was an honourable man, too, as far as it went, but he had the aristocrat’s blithe disregard for the wellbeing of the lower orders. He never intended to do harm, but Peter knew for a fact that his tailor had struggled to survive after Lord Silberry had arbitrarily decided to transfer his custom to a different tailor, and that a circulating library had folded after he had invested in a different one. It simply never occurred to him that his actions could cause catastrophic effects to others.

Miss Beasley was introduced, and the conversation became more general, to Peter’s relief, for what, after all, was there to be said between Lord Silberry and himself? He had never blamed the man for the collapse of the bank, and bore him no ill-will. Since he neither sought nor wanted aid from him, he had never expected to see him again. Now that he had, he was not sure what he felt. Relief that he had been able to help the Linches, perhaps, but no more than that.

In the midst of a discussion of Shropshire, and the merits of that county, which Miss Beasley was arguing with great spirit, Lord Silberry frowned. “Your carriage had luggage. You are not planning to squeeze in with the Linches, I trust?”

“No, indeed. We have rooms arranged at the Golden Lion.”

“Pfft. You will stay at the Hall, naturally, and Linch and Mrs Linch will dine with us. I shall send word to the Lion. Wait here.”

He strode out of the room, leaving Peter rather breathless. “Do you mind?” he said to Miss Beasley. “It will be more comfortable, but—?”

“I do not mind where I sleep, but I should not like you to feel awkward. The choice must be yours, Mr Winslade.”

“Then we will accept Lord Silberry’s kind offer,” he said. “I confess, I have long wished to see Langridge Hall. The house is a fine one, and the gardens are supposed to be the most beautiful in the West Riding.”

Until he walked into the saloon of Langridge Hall that evening, Peter had supposed that the house itself and its pleasure grounds would be the principal inducement of their stay there, although a hot bath and the attentions of a valet were lesser considerations. But as soon as he saw Miss Beasley, he realised his mistake.

She wore another of Lilian Winslade’s gowns, this time a deep red silk that foamed around her feet in the most mesmerising fashion. The décolletage was set off by a set of what looked like garnets, and Charu had done something amazing with her hair, so that it fell in a single curl onto splendid white shoulders. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.

She was standing at the window, but she turned as he entered. “Look, peacocks! Are they not beautiful?”

“Very,” he said, not looking at the peacocks at all. “Very beautiful indeed.”

“There is such a pretty walk over there, do you see? Past that great pine tree and then down towards the lake. I think there is a little house or temple or some such, half hidden in shrubbery. How I should love to explore!”

“Then you may do so. I shall be in Leeds all day tomorrow with my attorney, so you may explore to your heart’s content.”

“Oh… we are to stay for two nights?”

“Or longer, perhaps. Lord Silberry is most insistent that we stay here until our business is concluded.”

“How very kind he is,” she said.

“And how pleasant to hear oneself praised,” his lordship murmured, having entered the room unnoticed. “Indeed, you must stay as long as you wish. My dear Miss Beasley, how charming you look this evening. I have become so inured to the loss of my dear wife two years since, that I had almost forgotten the privilege of having a beautiful woman to grace my rooms. Fullbrook, did you bring up the champagne as I ordered? Then why is it not opened yet? Let us all drink a toast to friendships old and new.”

Peter could not honestly say that he did not enjoy the evening, for with Miss Beasley beside him and Ken and Kitty Linch of the company, how could he not? Even Lord Silberry’s presence was more pleasure than pain. But pain there was, for every time his lordship looked at Miss Beasley, every time he lowered his voice to speak more intimately to her, every time his gaze lingered on her face, her shoulders, her décolletage, Peter felt as if he had been run through with a spear. It was blazingly obvious that he was not alone in his admiration for Miss Beasley’s charms, and he had precisely the word to describe his feelings — jealousy. He was as jealous as a boy of seventeen in the first flush of love, and he had no idea what on earth could be done about it.

Nothing. There was not a single thing he could do.

What a sad case he was, falling hopelessly in love at his advanced years.

~~~~~

Phyllida was rather glad Peter had agreed to stay at Langridge Hall, with its elegant rooms, its army of efficient servants and its gloriously soft beds. She had feared he would dislike the idea, but he seemed to have no resentment against Lord Silberry. Even though he had said as much, she had not quite believed that he could be so forgiving. But there it was, he had the most generous nature in Christendom, and took all the blame onto himself, as if Lord Silberry himself was naught but an innocent caught up in affairs beyond his grasp.

Yet had she not done as much herself? Had she not taken all the blame for her downfall on herself, absolving Lord Saxby from almost all of it? He had led her down the path of wickedness, but she had followed him willingly, eagerly even, while knowing all the time that what she did was wrong, and so she had burdened herself with the full weight of guilt.

Now that she considered the matter rationally, she could see that Thomas Saxby must bear some part of it, perhaps even the greater part. He had turned his attention on her and despoiled her. She was far from his equal in society, but still she was gently born and not to be treated so. Nor was he some lovelorn youth, who knew not what he did. He had been thirty years old, a widower and a baron and a gentleman, who had understood precisely what he was doing and could have stepped away from her at any time. He should have stepped away. She had always known it, but now she was amazed that she had never fully articulated her thoughts before. She should have been angry with him, perhaps, but she had never seen the point of that. Instead, she had curled up and retreated into herself, hiding behind drab clothes and a submissive demeanour, like a snail huddled inside its shell, and had never even considered breaking free.

Yet now, such thoughts rose unbidden in her mind. It was the clothes, perhaps. Once before she had arrayed herself for the evening in one of Lilian Winslade’s elegant gowns, and had felt herself to be a different person. Her usual attire, the simple travelling clothes suitable for long hours on the road and nights in indifferent inns, had not had the same effect, but last night, when Charu had dressed her for dinner at Langridge Hall, she had found herself transformed.

It was the stays, she thought. The hair, too, and leaving off the spinster’s cap she generally wore, but mostly it was the stays. She had never before worn stays which produced such a miraculous enhancement in her shape, and the low cut of the gown made her feel womanly — and desirable. She saw it in Peter’s eyes, and she had seen it in Lord Silberry, too. When she dressed like that and saw the response in them, she was a different person. The mouse had fled to be replaced by… she pondered the analogy. An exotic bird, perhaps, with its colourful plumage. A parrot… no, for she had no liking for such bright colours.

As she gazed out of the breakfast room window, coffee in hand, the answer walked across the lawn below her. She was like the peacock, displaying his gorgeous plumage for all the world to see, elegant and special.

“All alone, Miss Beasley? And in thoughtful mood, I see,” Lord Silberry said, entering the breakfast room at that moment.

“I was pondering the odd fact that humans are different from the animal kingdom. Our females tend to be the more brightly dressed. Yet your peacocks are the spectacular ones. Look at that fine fellow displaying his magnificent tail. The hens are dull brown and very dreary by comparison.”

“How very true,” Lord Silberry said. “Yet when she is protecting her chicks, no doubt she is glad of her nondescript appearance that conceals her from predators. A lady, on the other hand, has no need to blend into the background. She should show her grace and beauty to the world for the delight of all who see her, and not just her outward beauty, but her purity of mind, too. Every household should have a lady in it, to uplift the hearts and spirits of all.” He sighed, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, but after a moment he went on in a more normal tone, “I had thought to find Winslade with you. Is he still abed?”

“Indeed not. He breakfasted early and has gone into Leeds to conduct his business there.”

“And will be gone all day, I suppose. When a gentleman is once drawn into business matters, he is apt to forget the clock, or his charming companion left behind. But I have no business to distract me. How may I entertain you, Miss Beasley? Shall I summon the barouche to drive you about the countryside? We have some famous sights hereabouts which will be sure to delight you. A tour of the house, perhaps? Its history may interest you, for my family was much engaged in the Civil War, and there are many mementos in the armoury.  Or may I escort you to visit your friends, Linch and Mrs Linch?”

“You are very obliging, Lord Silberry, but I have already settled the day to my own satisfaction. I plan to walk about your splendid gardens and admire them from every angle.”

“Nothing would please me more than to be your guide in such an endeavour, for although the pleasure grounds were designed by Capability Brown almost fifty years ago, his vision was never fully implemented at the time. My grandfather was a cautious man, and resistant to change on such a grand scale, and my father had too little time to make improvements. My wife and I, however, have taken great delight in fulfilling all the promise of Brown’s great vision, and the gardens are now rated as amongst the finest in the north of England.”

When she saw them for herself, Phyllida agreed wholeheartedly with that assessment. The natural landscape, or so it appeared, had been subtly reshaped to create such a pleasing domain that every turn of a path, every slight rise or gradual decline produced a new vista to delight the eye. The whole was interspersed with streams, strands of woodlands and arrangements of plantings in charming combinations of colours, with grottoes and follies and arbours at regular intervals. She was enchanted, and said so in extravagant terms.

Almost the first walk brought them to the stew ponds, and so they collected Mr and Mrs Linch, together with four of their children, who ran about with the boundless energy of the young. Mrs Linch apologised for their noise, but Lord Silberry turned it aside.

“It is a pleasure to me to see them enjoying themselves,” he said quietly.

After some time, when even the children were beginning to flag, they came to a small pavilion artfully placed at one end of a lake and reached by way of an elegant stone bridge of three arches. Here Lord Silberry had arranged for fruits and cakes and pastries and delicate creams to await them. They ate, they drank wine or lemonade, and for perhaps ten or fifteen minutes the children were still. But then they grew restless and ran off to feed crumbs to the ducks a little further down the lake, their parents in pursuit.

“A little more wine?” Lord Silberry said.

Phyllida allowed him to refill her glass. “Goodness, how you are spoiling me! I shall be fit for nothing when I go home, for I shall be grown far too high in the instep to polish the church brass, or knit socks for the poor. No doubt I shall lie about upon a chaise longue and expect to be fed hothouse fruit all day long.”

He laughed, but said, “Is that what you do with your time in Shropshire, Miss Beasley, polish the church brass and knit socks? It sounds dreadfully dull.”

“Not at all. I take great satisfaction in knitting socks. If I were more skilled with my needles, I should make stockings for myself, but happily my socks are very well received. There is nothing like a stout pair of woollen socks to keep a farm labourer’s feet cosy in winter. Just at this moment, it is my lack of artistic talent that I regret most, for is not the scene before us most picturesque? The lake with the bridge in the foreground, the reflection of the trees in the water and the children so charmingly arranged. How I would love to capture it in paint or charcoal, to remind me always of this pleasant day.”

“My wife had a little talent with a brush,” he said, and the sadness in his voice was palpable.

“You miss her greatly, I think.”

“I do, indeed I do! My life changed so suddenly, that was the way of it. It all came upon me so quickly, so unexpectedly. Three years ago, we were a united and very happy family, with nothing at all to trouble us, but then Emma married and moved to Devon, and George went off to Vienna to be a diplomat, and then… then Eliza died, very suddenly, and I was alone. I have been alone ever since. Oh, I attend to my duties in Parliament, I have estate business and kind neighbours, and I see Emma and George sometimes, but I cannot impose myself upon them or expect them to adjust their lives for me, so my days are rather empty just now. That is why I was so delighted to be able to offer Linch and his family a home, and why I am very happy to have your company for a few days. This place needs more people to bring it to life, instead of one man rattling round in all these empty rooms.”

“Do you have relations you might invite to share the house with you?” Phyllida said tentatively. “They might benefit from your generosity while also providing you with company. Or you might marry again.”

“Heavens, what a thought!” he said, chuckling. “I cannot even— No, let me be honest, the thought has indeed crossed my mind. How could it not? I was very happy in my marriage — and fortunate, too, for ours was no love match. My grandfather was ailing, I was the only child my parents had produced and so the pressure was intense. Eliza was… suitable, in every way. She was amenable, I wished to do the right thing and bring comfort to my grandfather in his declining years, and so we were married. And we discovered that we were very well suited, very well indeed. We were both… perfectly content, and the years only deepened the natural respect and esteem in which we held each other. We were a perfect example of an arranged marriage which was to the benefit of all parties. Neither of us ever regretted the choice we had made. But now… how could I possibly choose a wife? How could I ever be sure that I would choose aright, and not make a terrible mistake? Marriage is a strange undertaking, Miss Beasley. Very strange indeed.”

“I imagine it must be,” she said thoughtfully. “One always assumes that there is love involved somehow, or at least an affectionate attraction, but there are so many other considerations to be taken into account. Compatibility, naturally, but as you so wisely point out, that often cannot be determined until some considerable time later. Perhaps in the end, unless there is a great passion that sweeps all rational thought aside, it comes down to suitability. Eligibility. Duty, certainly, if one is in a position of responsibility. Convenience, even. One reaches a point in one’s life where one is ready for marriage and snaps up the first person who happens by, and reason has very little to do with it.”

“It may be so,” he said, chuckling. “Or there may be a great passion on one side and convenience on the other. My daughter Emma was one such. She had gone to stay with a friend in Bath and there she met William. He was instantly smitten, and when she returned home he followed her here and pursued his suit with great determination until she said yes. With her, there was no sweeping passion, that was all on his side, but she liked him well enough and he was suitable. ‘He has love enough for both of us,’ she said, and so it has proved, for she is very happy with him, but I confess, it is all a mystery to me. Marriage is a mystery, or perhaps it is the fair sex that is the true mystery. Does any man ever understand his partner of the heart, no matter how much he loves her? I very much doubt it. Marriage is always a great leap in the dark, Miss Beasley. One never quite knows how it will turn out.”