Page 57 of The Lady's Companion
“Ames, is my father about?”
He opened the door wider to let them in. “He is, Miss Hampton, and may I add I am certain he will be pleased when I tell him you’ve come back. Follow me.” He led them to thedoor of the sitting room, then stopped and looked at the bailiff, as if puzzled to see him following Susan. “Is there something you need?” He permitted himself the smallest of smiles. “Miss Hampton, I beg your pardon. Are you owing the jarvey?”
Susan looked at him in surprise. “Why, no, Ames.”
The butler appeared not to have heard her. He took a coin from his waistcoat and flipped it at the bailiff. “For your troubles, good man. If Miss Hampton owes you more, follow me belowstairs.”
The bailiff caught the coin, bit it, grinned, then tossed it back to the butler. “Mr. Ames, I’m here with Suzie and we want to speak to her father.”
What happened then was something Susan never expected to see in her life. To her utter astonishment, the butler took a step back, his mouth open in dumbfounded amazement, his eyes wide and staring. “You couldn’t possibly!” he gasped.
She stared at him and then at David, who had no smile on his face anymore. With a start that almost made her shudder, she realized that she had never seen a butler with any expression before. I am so ashamed, she thought, unable to look at either man. In all my years, have I ever thought of butlers as humans capable of expression? And come to think of it, what about bailiffs, and shopkeepers and others who do the work of my class? It was a disturbing realization and it shook her to her marrow.
“Ames, where is my father?” she asked.
With monumental effort, the butler gathered himself together and nodded to her. “If you will wait in here, Miss Hampton, and uh... you, there.” He indicated the sitting room, then started down the hall, picking up speed as he approached the stairs.
“Can I tell you what will be the topic over dinner in the servants’ hall tonight?” the bailiff murmured, more to himself than to her as they went inside.
She said nothing, but walked to the window and stood looking out upon nothing, still ashamed of herself. Joel Steinman is right, she reflected. This is an age of industry, and everything must change, except that I did not believe that the changes would have to begin with me. There will be many who cannot comprehend the changes.
“Suzie?” the bailiff asked, and he sounded uncharacteristically doubtful.
Before she could respond, the door opened and her father came into the room. To her sudden relief, his smile was genuine and brilliant, a brightness to it that she remembered from years ago, when he would return to them on the estate after business in London. “My dear,” he began, holding his hands out to her, “I knew you did not mean to stay away forever. Welcome home.”
He took her hands and kissed her before he noticed the bailiff standing by the fireplace. As Susan watched in shame, Sir Rodney took in the bailiff’s casual stance, clothes, and demeanor, and replaced his genuine smile with the vague one reserved for inferiors. He looked back at Susan with a question in his eyes. “A rustic from the Cotswolds to see you home to London?” he asked her. “That was kind of him, but hardly necessary.”
“No, Papa,” she began, realizing that there was no good way to say this. “May I introduce David Wiggins to you? He is Lady Bushnell’s bailiff at Quilling Manor, where I am working. He and I...” She couldn’t get the words out, no matter how she tried.
“Actually, Sir Rodney, Susan wants to tell you that she has consented to be my wife, and we are to be married tomorrow. We wanted you to know.”
Susan winced. Even the music of David’s Welsh accent could not disguise the plain-spoken words, and the bald fact that there was no other way to make such an announcement, no flowery phrases to make it palatable. She tried to look at him as herfather was doing even now, and saw a man in travel-worn clothes, his shoes a little rundown, his hair in need of a good combing. You cannot see him as I see him, she thought with sorrow.
Sir Rodney sat himself down, almost missing the sofa. He opened and closed his mouth several times, then turned on her the patient, wistful look that made her draw her hands into tight fists. “My dear Susan, is it wise to carry a fit of pique to such an extreme? I have won your pearls back, and I feel in my bones that by next Season, you can have a brilliant come out, perhaps even a presentation at court.”
She put up a hand to stop him. “Papa, that’s well and good. I am glad about the pearl necklace, because I would like to wear it tomorrow, and take it with me.”
It was Sir Rodney’s turn to look away in embarrassment. “When I say I have the pearls, well, I have, only I do not have them right now precisely,” he temporized. “They are as good as won back, depend upon it.”
“How many times have they changed hands since January?” she asked, her voice quiet even as she burned with shame.
“Only three times, daughter,” he said proudly. “And I always get them back. You’ll see.” He turned his kindly, patient gaze on the bailiff. “You’ll see how well I can take care of her, once I win them back again. You may go, sir. I’m sure we don’t need you.”
“I think Susan does,” said the bailiff gently, as if he were speaking to a child. “We wanted to let you know about the wedding tomorrow morning at eight in St Andrews.”
There was a long pause. Susan looked hard at the bailiff, willing him to end the interview so she could tug at what remained of her dignity and tow it after her from the room. Sir Rodney came closer to the bailiff, peering at him with curiosity, as though he were another species.
“See here, sir. I could call you out for offering such an insult tomy daughter.”
“I would never accept such a challenge because there has been no insult,” David said evenly. “I love your daughter, and I will provide for her.”
Sir Rodney shook his head helplessly. “I seem to have loaned my dueling pistols to someone, anyway.” He looked at his daughter, and she cringed at his desperate expression. “Susan, did we lose those with the house to that Lancastershire weaver?”
“Oh, please, Papa, that’s enough,” she begged. “David, I...”
“Brother, shall I send for the Watch?”
Susan gasped and turned around. Her aunt stood in the doorway, Ames at her shoulder looking wooden in a righteous sort of way.
