A Chance Encounter

Chapter 14

"But do you know for sure that Mr. Mainwaring is not coming back here?" Mrs. Rowe asked Mrs. Claridge the following afternoon.

"I have it on the firmest authority," Mrs. Claridge replied, nodding confidentially and setting her teacup back in its saucer. "Soames was talking to the vicar this morning. He told him that his master had sent word that his trunks were to be packed and sent to London."

"How provoking!" Mrs. Rowe said. "And just when the life of our neighborhood was becoming more genteel. I do declare, Mrs. Claridge, I shall miss his company, even if it did seem that he was not interested in any of our girls."

The girls did not seem too disappointed over Mr. Mainwaring's lack of interest in them. They were busy commiserating with each other over the fact that the Worthing cousins were to leave for home in two more days.

"But I wonder why he left so abruptly?" Mrs. Claridge said. "The vicar was unable to say. But I distinctly heard Mr. Mainwaring accept an invitation to cards on Tuesday next."

"Perhaps he had bad news from London," Mrs. Rowe suggested. "Poor, dear man. I do hope he comes back here for Christmas, at least. It is most provoking to have the manor close by and no one in residence."

The visitors were gathered as usual in the drawing room with Mrs. Rowe, Cecily, and Elizabeth. Elizabeth was sitting in the window seat, sewing a new ruffle onto Cecily's favorite ball gown. She kept her head down. She was certainly in no mood to join in the speculations about the master of Ferndale. Was he suffering? Had she hurt him badly? She berated herself now for not putting a firm end to his hopes as soon as she realized which way his feelings were inclined. She might have guessed that they would never be allowed to marry. And now she was almost sure that she could not have carried through with her plans, anyway. She was married to Robert and would always be, even if he divorced her a thousand times.

"The vicar heard another extraordinary thing this morning," Mrs. Claridge was saying. "It seems that the Marquess of Hetherington was in Granby yesterday, but he put up at the inn, not at Ferndale. As it turned out, though, he did not even stay the night, but left very late after paying for his night's lodging and a dinner and breakfast that he did not eat."

"That is most peculiar," Mrs. Rowe agreed. "Perhaps he expected Mr. Mainwaring to be here and did not like to stay at the house when he found that he was not there. Though he might have visited us, of course."

Both ladies suddenly became aware of Elizabeth's presence and remembered her connection to the marquess.

"I am so sorry, Miss Rossiter," Mrs. Claridge murmured.

"Did you know his lordship was here, my dear?" asked Mrs. Rowe.

"Oh, yes," Elizabeth answered calmly. "He called here last evening. He brought the news that.Mr. Mainwaring visited him a few days ago and has now gone to London. It seems he has unexpected business there and is unlikely to return for some time."

"Well, how provoking!" Mrs. Rowe declared. "Life will seem so dull with the dear man gone, and the Worthings leaving for London after Christmas."

"The reverend has heard that Mr. Dowling is to take in the Season, too," Mrs. Claridge commented.

"Pursuing Lucy, no doubt," Mrs. Rowe said. "Will the squire ever give his consent to that match, do you think?"

The visit continued, with both groups of ladies enjoying a cosy gossip while Elizabeth sewed in the window seat, alone with her own thoughts.

She had hardly slept the night before and even yet was not quite able to think coherently enough to sort out what exactly had happened or how she felt about it. Too much had happened, too many strange and unexpected things.

Had he really held her and kissed her, not in anger, but in real need? Had there been tears in his eyes when he first lifted her against him? Had he called her "darling," as he had done during those days in Devon? And he had been going to take her to bed. She could have made love with Robert last night. Her needle paused above her work as shivers sizzled up her arms and along her spine.

Another memory was trying to surface. He had been talking to her while she was feeling faint. There had been more than the word darling. Elizabeth began to sew feverishly as she remembered. He loved her. He must love her. There had been such real pain in his voice as he had begged her to tell him that she had loved him when they married, that their honeymoon had not been a lie. My God, he loved her! Then, why? Why had he done what he did? Why had he abandoned her?

Mrs. Claridge had risen and was taking her leave. Anne was whispering a final confidence to Cecily.

"You will be coming with Cecily this evening, Miss Rossiter?" Mrs. Claridge asked.

"Yes, if I may," Elizabeth replied, quietly folding away her sewing.

"I should be most grateful," Mrs. Claridge said. "This is the evening when the reverend always writes his Sunday sermon and I like to sit with him to mend his pens. But the young people cannot be left alone."

"It would be my pleasure to sit with them," Elizabeth assured her with a smile.

It was not until quite late that night that Elizabeth again had time to herself. She felt deadly tired. A week of busy social activities, yesterday's headache and encounter with Hetherington, today's busy schedule, had all taken their toll on her energy. But she knew she would not sleep until she had somehow sorted through her thoughts about the night before. She pulled a chair to the window, blew out the candle, and sat looking out onto the moonlit lawns and trees.

What had Robert said last night? There was that ten thousand pounds. He had said that his uncle had paid her to leave her husband. He had accused her of accepting such a bribe. Could he be telling the truth? Could he really believe such a thing? It seemed that he must, because his words earlier in the evening had suggested that he really had suffered over the breakup of their marriage, that he really believed she was the one responsible for it. But why, then, had he not responded to all those letters she had written? Why had he not tried to see her? And why had he written those cold and hurtful letters to her father?

One thing at least was beginning to clarify itself in Elizabeth's mind. Their separation had not been brought about by his lack of love or by cruelty. Somehow there had been a massive misunderstanding. For six years each of them had believed the other at fault. Each had carried the pain and the bitterness all that time. She remembered his saying that he had remained faithful to his marriage, that she had spoiled him for all other women. He had suffered as much as she. She closed her eyes and laid her forehead in one shaking hand. What a revolutionary thought! She had accustomed herself for so long to the idea that he was a heartless wretch. Had he just been her own very dear Robert all the time?

Yet they had parted the night before with bitterness, poles apart, unable to communicate. He had left Granby, not even waiting for morning. There was no reason now for any future meetings. It was likely that there would be an estrangement between him and William Mainwaring. Even if they remained friends, it was very unlikely that they would come together to Ferndale again as long as she still lived with the Rowes. He had refused to divorce her or to allow her to divorce him. They had told each other their stories, yet had failed to understand what had happened. And they had parted. It was all over.

But why should that be? They had loved each other passionately six years before, had defied their families in order to marry, and had grieved for each other ever since. They loved and wanted each other now. Why should they be apart forever? Had they not suffered enough? And all because of the lies and the schemings of one man.

Robert had said that his uncle always acted out of devotion to his family. What a twisted devotion it was to destroy a nephew's marriage and his happiness in order to protect the great pride of the family name. The man had lied, of course. He had lied about that meeting she had had with him before the marriage, and he had completely fabricated what he said had happened afterward. But Robert had believed him, had believed all these years that she had preferred money to him. Although it hurt to know that he had had so little faith in her, she had to admit that Robert had known his uncle so much longer and had always trusted him. And he had been very young at the time. She too had eventually believed what her father and John had repeatedly told her, that he was a heartless scoundrel. And that had been equally untrue, although they had not deliberately lied to her.

Elizabeth gazed sightlessly through the window again. Was there any way that she could prove that Robert's uncle had lied? If she traveled to London and found him out, would he admit the truth to her? And, more important, would he admit it to Robert? But how could she, a mere woman, a mere governess, travel alone to London and seek out a man of Horace Denning's stature? It could not be done unless she took someone along with her. John? Would he go? Was it just a mad scheme, anyway?

Elizabeth was suddenly overtaken by a gigantic yawn. She realized how difficult it was becoming to keep her eyes open. She would think of it in the morning.

---

"Beth? Beth, where are you?" Cecily's voice preceded her up the staircase until she burst into the schoolroom, where Elizabeth was kneeling in the middle of the contents of a box of old books.

"Gracious! What are you doing?" Cecily asked.

"Your mama wants me to sort through your old books," Elizabeth replied, "and pick out any that may be of use in the new school that is to open in the autumn."

"Oh," replied Cecily. "Why, I remember this old reader." She bent and picked up a book with a worn brown cover and water-stained yellow pages.

"You sounded excited as you were coming upstairs," Elizabeth commented. "You were certainly yelling my name in most unladylike fashion. Is there another picnic planned?"

"Oh, much, much more than that," Cecily cried, dropping the book and dancing around the room. "Papa has said we are to go to Bath for a few weeks. Think of it, Beth. The Pump Room. The Assemblies. And you are to go with us. Are you not of all things delighted?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Delighted for you, Cecily," she said, "though you should not get your hopes too high, perhaps. Bath is not as fashionable as it used to be, I understand. You are likely to find mainly older people taking the waters, you know. However," she added, seeing the girl's crestfallen face, "I am sure you will enjoy the change of air and scenery. And at least you will see some new faces."

"Yes," Cecily added, "and I shall not have Ferdie glowering at me every time I smile at another gentleman. Oh, Beth, and we shall visit all the modistes and you shall help me choose my winter wardrobe."

"I am afraid not," Elizabeth said quietly. "I plan to your mother if I may take a month's holiday. I know I have just come back from a leave of absence, but I h;i\‹ some pressing business that must be attended to. I shall not feel so guilty if I know you are all going to Bath, as I know your mama will delight in accompanying you every where."

"Oh, but, Beth, it would not be such fun without you," the girl wailed. "Must you go now? Can you not wait until after we come back?"

"I am afraid not, Cecily," Elizabeth replied, setting aside some of the books in a separate pile and returning the others to the box. In fact, she had made up her mind only when Cecily had mentioned Bath that she must go home and persuade John to go to London with her. In all likelihood nothing could be accomplished even if John agreed to go. Horace Denning would refuse to see them or deny all their accusations. The chances were very good, in fact, that he would not even be in London during these summer months. But she had to try. Her own love for Robert was a strong pain that she would have to bear for the rest of her life if she must. But if there was a chance that he loved her too and that their separation had not been of their own making, then she felt compelled to try to make possible a reconciliation. She had to put every ounce of effort into the attempt.

There was no point in delaying. Elizabeth immediately sought out Mrs. Rowe and explained to her why she could not accompany them to Bath. In the event, though, she did not ask for a holiday. She resigned from her position. Although she had not given herself time to think through the decision carefully, she knew that she was doing the right thing. Her usefulness to Cecily was over; she was not really earning her salary. If she must work for a living for the rest of her life, then it was time that she inquired after a situation as a governess again. And perhaps most important of all, it seemed only fair that she move away from the vicinity of Ferndale. William Main waring would probably not wish to return there as long as he knew that she was close by. Yet, that was his home and he had told her that he loved it and intended making it his principal residence.

Three days later, therefore, having said her good-byes to all her acquaintances and given promises to write, Elizabeth took a tearful farewell of the employers, whom she now looked upon more as friends.

"Beth, I shall hate not having you to confide in or to scold me," Cecily said, hugging her hard.

"Now, you come back here whenever you wish, my dear Miss Rossiter," Mrs. Rowe said. "I am sure we shall always find a place for you. I have never met a more genteel young lady, I do declare." She kissed Elizabeth on the cheek and then blew delicately into her lace handkerchief.

Mr. Rowe drove Elizabeth into Granby, where she was to catch the morning stage. She had insisted on that mode of travel despite the objections of her employers. The stagecoach was in the inn yard already, but the coachman was taking refreshments inside.

Mr. Rowe turned to Elizabeth as she sat beside him in the gig. "Good-bye, Cinderella," he said, patting the gloved hands that lay in her lap. "I am sorry to see you go. I believe that Prince Charming has already won the prize but has not come with the glass slipper to claim it. Am I right?"

"Sir?" she asked, startled.

"Young Hetherington," he said. "He risked a great deal when he admitted that you were his wife, you know. I could not understand why you came back alone again afterward."

She smiled at him. "It is a long story, I'm afraid, sir.'

"Yes," he agreed, "they usually are. Come along, my dear. You find an inside seat and I shall see that your portmanteau is tied on securely."

Elizabeth was fortunate enough to secure a window seat. Mr. Rowe came to the door before the coachman closed it. "Good-bye, my dear," he said. "Dorothy and Cecily will wish to hear from you, you know."

She nodded, too choked to speak, and felt unspeakable relief when the coach lurched once and pulled out of the inn yard onto the cobbled street of Granby.

It was a very different journey from the one she had made with Hetherington. It was much slower and more tiresome. They stopped many times to pick up and deposit travelers. They snatched refreshments whenever possible and stopped for the night at an inn where the rooms were less than clean and the service less than courteous. By the time she reached the village two miles distant from John's house, Elizabeth was glad to leave her portmanteau at the local hostelry and walk home in the fresh air, despite her stiffness and tiredness and despite the gathering dusk.

John and Louise were dining when the butler let her into the house. There was great excitement when she was shown into the dining room.

"Elizabeth!" Louise shrieked, rising from the table to display slightly more bulk than when her sister-in-law had seen her last. "We were just talking about you. Oh, how splendid that you have come home again. Are you here to stay this time? And who brought you? Oh, how naughty of you to just come without letting us know. Are you hungry? I shall have an extra place set this instant."

John was laughing, though he too had risen to hug his sister. "Louise is not usually very talkative," he told Elizabeth, "but sometimes she starts and does not know when to stop. Come and sit down, love, and tell us to what happy chance we owe this visit."

Elizabeth sank down into the chair he pulled out from the table for her. "Oh, it is so good to be home," she said. "I have been traveling on the stage for two full days. And yes, Louise, I am home to stay, for a while anyway, though I hope to lure John away for a few days."

"Where?" asked Louise.

"Oh, I am so tired," Elizabeth replied. "Please may I explain everything tomorrow?"

"Of course you may, love," John replied. "Eat now, if you can, then we can show off to you our son, who has two new teeth since last you saw him, and you can go to bed. We will talk in the morning."

---

"No!" she was saying. "I won't believe it. No, please, no."

"I am sorry, Lizzie," her father said. "I am truly sorry. But he has made himself quite plain. He does not want to see you."

"No!" she protested. "It can't be true. He loves me. Oh, he loves me."

"He is a scoundrel, Lizzie," he replied. He sounded uncomfortable in his role as comforter. "You will have to learn to forget him."

"No! No, there is some misunderstanding, Papa. I can't believe it. I must see him. I must go to him. Please."

"He will not see you," he said again. "He wishes to end the marriage. The likes of us are not good enough for his lordship."

"No," she moaned. "I must talk to him. I must see his letter. Let me see his letter, Papa. There is some misunderstanding."

"I will not allow that," he said, his voice gruff with sympathy. "It would break your heart to read the words in his own handwriting, Lizzie."

"Oh, let me see it, Papa," she begged, "let me see him. Make him come to see me. He loves me. I know he loves me."

"He does not want you anymore, girl," he said.

"No. Oh, no, no. Please, no," she wailed.

John was kneeling in front of her, covering her hands with his, drawing her head down to his shoulder, murmuring soothing words.

"Don't, love," he was saying. "Don't torture yourself like this. Elizabeth, Elizabeth. Elizabeth!"

She woke up with a start to find John sitting on the side of her bed, gently shaking her by the shoulders. Louise was standing behind him, holding a candle in a holder. Both looked deeply concerned. She stared blankly up at them.

"The old nightmare, love?" John asked gently.

She nodded numbly. "But I was right, John," she whispered. "I was right. He did not abandon me. He did love me."

John smoothed back from her face a strand of hair that lay across one eye. His hand was as gentle as a woman's, "Louise will sit and talk to you," he said, "while I go and warm some milk for you. You are at home now, love, and we intend to smother you with so much love that there will be no room for nightmares or bad memories either."

He left the room before she could reply, and Louise took his place at the side of the bed. She talked cheerfully and without pause until he returned with the promised milk. She told Elizabeth all about her pregnancy and her growing contentment as she felt the child move inside her, about her hope that this child would be a girl, though it really did not matter as they intended to have several more babies, "and surely one of them must be a girl, do you not think, Elizabeth? And, of course, girls have to be properly married when they grow up, and they need decent dowries, so maybe it will be just as well if they are mostly boys. Do you think, love?"

Elizabeth was smiling by the time John came back. The smile covered a great surge of gratitude that she felt for these two people, who were so wrapped up in their own love for each other and for their son and unborn child and yet could open their lives to include her too. She drank her milk like an obedient child and allowed Louise to plump her pillows and tuck in the blankets before kissing her on the cheek. John too kissed her before following his wife from the room.

"You are safe now, love," he said. "I shall look after you now as you looked after me when I was a boy. Go back to sleep. There will be no more dreams."

Elizabeth smiled and felt herself obediently drifting off. In just such a tone of voice John must talk to Jeremy. But it felt so good, so good to let someone else carry her burdens for just a little while.