Chapter Eleven

 

 

The days passed and the first day of April arrived. Julia wondered how Mrs Wareham was faring in Rye, or more particularly Stephen. There had been no news yet from either Captain Martin or Lenore, and yet with each passing day she thought of the ‘Lady Lydia’ sailing across the Atlantic ocean and approaching the port of Bristol.

A note arrived by a messenger from Stephen asking if she would be so kind as to visit his mother in his rooms in Rye on Thursday at three o’clock. Should his mother be unwell and not up to receiving visitors, he would send a message in the morning. Julia replied that was perfectly acceptable to her, and waited in some trepidation for Thursday to arrive.

Alone in the barouche, carefully dressed in her sage green pelisse, with Geraghty up top, Julia looked out at the countryside enveloped in spring lushness. Was it really only one year since she’d been preparing for Princess Elizabeth’s wedding to the Prince of Hesse-Homberg, and to leave Court to make her home here in Winchelsea with her great uncle? So much had happened!

Lost in her thoughts, it was with some surprise that she realized the carriage was climbing the hill into the town to Stephen’s rooms, which she had never before visited. The barouche pulled up at the top, and Julia alighted, assisted by Geraghty who had knocked on the door. It was opened by Stephen’s man Dobson, looking rather harassed.

‘Captain Wareham sends his apologies ma’am. He has been unexpectedly called away on the King’s business. Mrs Wareham though, is ready to receive you.’

Julia felt her heart sink at this news. She had been so certain that Stephen would have been there at this meeting that the revelation of his absence threw her into total confusion. There was nothing for it but to continue, and smiling agreeably she walked past him and into the parlour.

There seated by a flickering fire, a rug over her knees, dressed in black, sat Mrs Wareham, and Julia received an even greater shock.

Instead of an elderly, pale, grey headed, delicate looking lady as she had imagined, there sat a robust, bright eyed woman, with not a grey hair in her dark head under its muslin cap, not much past fifty.

‘Ah, Miss Farraday. Forgive me for not getting up but my limbs are still troubling me after my long journey. Do please to sit down, and I will have tea brought in, for you must be thirsty after your journey.’

This was said in a strong voice, and with a smile exposing a mouthful of shining white teeth that did not seem to be entirely her own.

‘It gives me such pleasure to meet such an old friend of Stephen’s,’ said the still smiling Mrs Wareham, her dark eyes shining like two black currants above the gleaming teeth.

‘I have only had the pleasure of knowing Stephen for a year…’ began Julia hesitantly.

Mrs Wareham’s laughter trilled around the room. ‘My dear, for one so quiet as my dear boy, to have a friend of the opposite sex for such a length of time is quite an achievement, I do assure you, as he has no interest in the fair sex, only his career in the Excise Service. Why you,’ she added brightly, ‘he regards most fondly as the sister he sadly never had. Ah, here is the tea.’

Dobson entered the room bearing a tray laden with tea things, which he set down on a small table in front of Mrs Wareham. With one imploring look at Julia, he hastily departed.

Julia sat in stunned silence as her hostess asked, ‘Do you take milk or cream?’

Taking the cup from her outstretched hand, and declining the rataffia biscuit offered to her, Julia watched in fascination as Mrs Wareham vigorously stirred the sugar in her tea, and continued.

‘It has always worried me that the dear boy is so far away from me, and is at the mercy of feminine wiles being thrown out at him by every creature he may come in contact with,’ she said earnestly. ‘Fortunately, as you are a sensible, confirmed spinster, I feel confident I can rely on your support to warn him away from designing females, who are apt to throw themselves at him.’

Here she lowered her voice and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, looking intently the whole time at Julia, who felt those two black eyes boring into her. ‘Of course, in due time I must find him a wife, and I’m sure I can count on your support as a trusted friend to help in this matter. His dear papa was forty-four when he married me, which is the perfect age for a man to wed. I was just twenty, and ours was a perfect union, as I trust my dear boy’s will be. Why, Stephen is now just past thirty, so there are many years ahead when he must be protected from landing on the shoals of matrimony and grief, through an unfortunate alliance, do you not agree?’

Not waiting for a reply, while Julia sat as if paralysed, Mrs Wareham continued blithely. ‘He is such a support to me, his old mother, that I cannot bear to think of him being put upon in any way possible. I know you are a sensible woman Miss Farraday, and you are,’ here there was a tinkling laugh, ‘a woman of I should say at least thirty-five, and therefore a woman of the world with your time spent at Court, who knows how the dear boy must be protected at all costs. For when he does marry in ten or twelve years time, he will need a young bride to bear his children and to be a support to him, and he will by then be comfortably settled in his career to afford to do so.’

Here she paused to take a sip of tea, her bright eyes and smile never leaving Julia’s frozen face.

Inside though, Julia was beginning to boil. Why, the nerve of this dreadful woman… thirty-five, when she was not yet twenty-nine.

Mrs Wareham though was just warming to her subject. ‘Now I know,’ she said in a teasing tone, ‘that you doubtless think me a foolish old woman, Miss Farraday, but a mother can never be too protective, particularly of her only son.’ Here the smile was beatific as she replaced her cup in its saucer. ‘Having you here in Rye to watch out for my Stephen is for me, heaven blest. I regard you as mine, and dear Stephen’s, special friend, to protect him from the muslin brigade in the vicinity should they throw out any lures in his direction. Can I,’ she said anxiously, ‘rely on your support in this matter?’

In a stupefied silence, Julia could only look at her as one caught in a trance. The words simply would not emit themselves. Mrs Wareham took not an iota of notice but munched pensively on her biscuit, saying, ‘I can only repeat what a blessing it is indeed to have you here to guard and watch over my boy like a true sister, and friend. I have seriously thought of leaving my spinster sister in Suffolk, who you do so remind me of, and coming here to live with Stephen. His man,’ she said scornfully, ‘is useless. I am constantly having to organize and direct him. Only I know my poor sister would be desolate without me.’ Here she gave a hearty sigh. ‘So difficult to know what is best to do, as I am needed in both places and in my delicate state of health…’ here she paused to take another sip of tea, while looking reflectively at Julia.

Never, thought Julia, had she seen a healthier woman than Mrs Wareham, more was the pity. Inwardly seething, she couldn’t believe that Stephen could genuinely believe that his mother was a semi-invalid with a delicate constitution. Somehow she managed to evade answering Mrs Wareham on any further discussion regarding Stephen, and the lady seemed content that her remarks had found their mark with Julia, and therefore there was little to be said. The conversation turned to Rye, and commonplace matters regarding the local populace.

Julia had intended to invite Stephen to bring his mother over to Winchelsea for a visit, but she couldn’t bring herself to even suggest such a thing now.

Mrs Wareham rose to her feet to escort Julia out as she was leaving, and Julia was surprised how tall she was, and how briskly she walked for one who supposedly had tired limbs.

‘Please do remember my entreaty to you to guard my dear boy, for I feel, like Stephen, that you are an old friend, entirely to be trusted, and will remember my pleas and keep my friendship safe.’ Here she gripped Julia’s hand, as a grim looking Dobson held open the door, said a curt ‘goodbye,’ and Julia was out in the street.

Walking steadfastly along the road towards the material warehouse where she had arranged to meet Geraghty, Julia felt her cheeks burning with fury, while in her heart rage pounded along with every footstep she took.

That odious, awful woman! Why, she had never been so insulted in her life. How could Stephen be such a numbskull to be taken in by her! Did he really believe she was a helpless widow in ill health? Never had Julia seen a stronger, healthier, woman of middle years in all her life. As for shopping, she could no more shop now than fly to the moon. All she wanted to do was get home, and take Athene for a furious gallop along the coast, and then, maybe then, she could collect her equilibrium, and decide what she was going to say to Stephen when she next met him.