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Friendship is constant
(Much Ado About Nothing II.1.79)
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HAVING RETURNED HOME, the days passed quickly. Business was brisk as customers sought last-minute additions for their various garments for the season’s balls and other festivities. Edward found that even with his well-trained staff he was required to spend many hours a day in his warehouses, overseeing operations and dealing with last-minute negotiations and unusual enquiries. The hired salesmen could not be expected, after all, to come to arrangements with the Duke of N— when His Grace decided at the eleventh hour to outfit his entire household in new costumes for the ball his lady was hosting.
Matthew was not required to be part of these business dealings, and at his own request, was offered several days off work. He had asked for, and was granted, the opportunity to participate in some of the preparations for the merchants’ ball, and he spent many hours with Mrs. Dyson and her housekeeper as they discussed the final plans for the Twelfth Night Ball. The boy was present for breakfast and the evening meals, but otherwise Edward saw almost nothing of his young protégé. It is as it should be, he told himself. The lad is curious and independent, and I am pleased to let him learn as he wishes.
What Edward did wish for, although he was sorely disappointed in his wishes, was another letter from Miss Grant. He had not expected to receive anything whilst at Longbourn; he knew that many of his letters came through Matthew, and he certainly always sent his replies through that channel. As well, Christmas was not the best season for the expeditious transmission of letters. He tried valiantly to hide his disappointment, even from himself, and applied his full efforts to the running of his business ventures, sparing little time for his family or friends.
This was not unnoticed by Frederick Dyson. Two days before the ball, Frederick cornered Edward at the close of business and insisted on visiting after the evening’s meal. As the two men sat in Edward’s sitting room, with a glass of Scotch whisky at the elbow of each and a plate of sweets and cheeses between them, Dyson turned to his friend and asked, “What troubles you, Edward?”
Edward sputtered, “Troubles me? Why, nothing. Business is good and things are going well.”
“Then why, my friend, have I not seen you these past weeks when you are not going to, or coming from, your place of work? This is not like you.”
“Fred, work has kept me busy. I am certain your mother has kept you hopping with last minute preparations for the ball as well.” Mrs. Dyson was a vivacious and energetic woman who could keep pace and more with girls half her age.
“Yes, yes, my friend. But until this year, you have been more than able to leave your work when the warehouse closes and spend good time with pleasant company, such as my own humble self. These last weeks, you have buried yourself beneath your bolts of fabric, and I wish—no, I need—to know why. Something, Edward, is bothering you, and I demand to hear it.”
“Fred, I tell you, all is well.”
“Rot, Edward. And you know it. For all that you are a far more serious bloke than I am, you are a social fellow too, and when you neglect your friends, I know that something is aboil. Now tell me, or I shall... I shall...”
Edward laughed, “You shall what, Fred? I long to find out.”
“I shall do something particularly embarrassing, as soon as I can decide what that might be!” He joined his friend in the laughter and took another drink from his glass, holding it up to the warm fire and staring at the playful flicker of the light through the liquid therein. “Now, will you tell me? Is it young Matthew? Is he vexing you? I have yet to meet the lad and discover for myself his enthusiasm, although my dear Mater informs me that he is all aglow at learning every detail of the ball from her. Mother talks about him constantly. She likes him and has deemed him a bright lad, far smarter than her own dear son.” He flashed a brilliant smile at his friend.
“No, indeed, Matthew is quite well and I have not for one moment regretted my choice in taking him on. He is bright... interesting... interested. Amazing, really, to be so garrulous and yet so private. But no, I have no concerns over young Matt.”
“Your parents? Your sisters? Your nieces, perhaps? All are well?”
“No, no fears there. All my family are quite well and healthy. Although I do believe the week I spent with my sister Fanny is enough to last me for this next sixmonth, at least. I do not know how brother Bennet survives her!” He chuckled and took a drink. “And my nieces are delightful. The younger ones are still babies, but the older two grow more personable each day. I shall enjoy their company as adults, I know.”
“Then whatever can it be, Edward,” Frederick looked perplexed. “For I know something is the matter.” He scratched his sandy head and drew his lips into a twisted half smile, as he did when he was thinking. Then he suddenly tapped his finger on his nose. “No! It cannot be! And yet—” He let out a chortle. “What of the elusive Miss Grant? Aha, Edward, I see that look, that evasive glance, the twist of the head. You are still besotted with this lady of the letters. Tell all, tell!”
“Alas, Fred, there is nothing to tell. She wrote to me, I wrote to her, we corresponded for a short time, and then she stopped. I had no reasons to expect a longer period of correspondence. I am a stupid fellow, silly as a schoolgirl.”
“Oh, I see how things are. You’ve been thrown over for someone with better penmanship. But surely it has only been a few short weeks. This is a busy time of year, and it is more than likely that the lady has been engaged with other matters. Family, or travels, just as you have been. I would not throw myself into the Thames quite yet. Next week will do, after the ball. Must not upset Mater’s seating arrangement for supper, after all.”
“Fred, you are a stout fellow and know how to make me smile. I promise I shall not throw myself into the river, nor do away with myself by any other means, at least until after the ball. I should hate to upset your mother’s seating arrangements.” Edward toasted his friend. “Now tell me how the plans are shaping up. I trust every detail is well under control, for your mother has a sturdy reputation in such matters.”
“She is in a constant flurry of activity, complaining that every vendor or delivery person is late, that the music is unfit for human hearing, that the chef will never manage the food she has requested... in short, everything is proceeding completely according to plan and the ball should be a great success.
“And,” he continued, “It will be very well attended. Expect a right crush, my friend. Along with the usual attendees, several families have requested permission to bring guests visiting from around the country. I hope to have a marvellous time and have already secured five dances with some of my favourite young ladies. One or two have hopes of becoming Mrs. Dyson, but I am only six and twenty, and have no desire to pin myself to one woman quite yet.”
“Now Fred...”
“Yes, yes, when She comes along and into my life, I am certain that I shall be only too happy to be pinned, but She has not yet appeared, so I shall continue to flirt harmlessly.”
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, and Edward realized he was pleased by it, both for the diversion and for the opportunity to talk about Miss Grant, however briefly. Frederick was a good friend, he knew. It was a rare gift in life to have someone who noticed these small changes in behaviour and who took the time and effort to ascertain that everything was well. He, Edward Gardiner, was a lucky fellow, and he knew it.
But that evening as he readied himself for bed, Miss Grant re-entered his thoughts. He really was getting himself into a muddle over a creature of his imagination. At no point, he admitted to himself, had Miss Grant ever offered the promise of a continued correspondence. Her letters were cheerful and amusing, and full of wit, to be certain, but no promises, overt or veiled, had been made. And in truth, what sort of promises was she even to think of making? The promise to write faithfully? She might not even be telling truth in the few glimmers about herself that she let drop. A few letters were not a relationship, and certainly not anything else, Edward admonished himself.
And, he continued reasoning, even if she should wish to continue their curious back and forth through the post, she might have any number of reasons to break from her letters for a while. As he suggested to Frederick, she might be travelling to visit family or friends for Christmas. If she were not at home, procuring paper and even time to write letters might be more difficult than she might have imagined. Else, she could be otherwise engaged. Could her brother, the young Mr. Grant, possibly be back in England for Christmas? But to travel the cold Atlantic in the deep of winter... surely that was a voyage better undertaken in the summer.
Or, perhaps, she herself had never been at home. Edward hated the thought of her being forced to find a situation for herself, such as a teacher of governess, but if that were indeed the case, she might have so many other obligations at this time of year that letter writing might be nigh on impossible.
He was now in his nightshirt and robe, staring deeply into the flames of the fire. He knew so little of her. And yet he could not stop thinking of her. He spoke aloud, to the flames, “Perhaps I need only see her once, and discover that she is just another woman, and this fascination will desert me. Perhaps her face is more than plain, or her figure unappealing. Perhaps she has warts on her nose, or is a harridan, waiting to vex with every word she says in her harsh voice. I must banish this notion I have created.”
And yet, when he lay in bed, trying with all his might not to think of the mysterious Miss Grant, all the images of his fondest dreams flooded back into his thoughts and he fell asleep with this in his head.
The morning dawned bright and clear, although intricate patterns of ice on his windows suggested the air outside was bitter. He washed and dressed quickly and made his way to the dining room for breakfast. His parents were not yet there, as expected, but Matthew was already at the table, reading over the morning’s newspaper in his accustomed way as he sipped his tea and devoured a plate of eggs and cold meats.
Edward poured himself a cup of the hot, bitter coffee that awaited him and took his first sip of the day before finding his seat, enjoying the sensation of the liquid stimulating his palate and warming his blood. He grunted a good morning to Matthew, who raised bright eyes and chirped out a morning greeting entirely too cheerful for Edward’s sleepy state.
“You had a good night’s sleep, then lad? You are unusually chipper this morning.”
“I did sleep well, Mr. Gardiner. I am all excited about assisting Mrs. Dyson’s butler with the last of the preparations for the ball. It is tomorrow night, you know!”
“I was aware of that, Matthew. But I must admit some astonishment as to your interest in this whole affair. I was not aware that fourteen-year-old youths took much interest in dances.” Edward had now imbibed enough coffee to face the prospect of food and rose to fill his own plate whilst he awaited Matthew’s reply.
He was not disappointed. “Oh, indeed the ball itself is of minor interest to me. The part I enjoy is the planning of it all. I do find the details—I believe Mrs. Dyson called them ‘logistics’—fascinating in their complexity. She has been so kind and generous with her time, and has explained the entire endeavour, from formulating a guest list to hiring extra staff to help guests with their outer wear. I do believe she expects me to find a position managing a large estate someday. I believe I have been of some assistance with some of the calculations as well, or at least, Mrs. Dyson says so. And, Mr. Gardiner, the food! Do you know how many eggs are required to make the cakes to feed three hundred souls, all hungry from dancing? It is truly a marvelous thing to observe!” He stopped talking to catch his breath.
“Eggs, my boy? The next thing I shall know, you will be in the kitchen helping Chef crack them all to bake the cakes.” More awake now, he laughed heartily at his own joke. “You certainly do have an air of excitement to you. Are you back there today, lad?”
“Aye, Mr. Gardiner, if you have no need of me.” He looked up now, a new expression in his pale eyes. “And, Mr. Gardiner, sir, if I may....”
“Yes, lad? Speak on.”
“From what I hear, you will be preparing for the ball all afternoon. Might I be so bold as to ask for the day off? I have found some friends whom I might wish to visit. If you have no need of me, of course! I should never presume...”
“Friends?” Edward was interested. “What friends? Oh, I imagine you have met other youngsters on your Wednesday wanderings.”
Matt nodded. “This is so. On my days off, I have met with others my age, and I have amazingly found an old friend, from when we were young ones, living not far from here. We are both more than happy to visit when we both have the time for it. I do hope this does not make you unhappy...”
“Unhappy? Why ever should I be unhappy that you have found friends? As for your day off, I work you hard enough when I have you. I shall make a poor tyrant if I am so soft on my employees. Go and find your friends. But mark: I should like you back at work the next day, as I believe I have a new shipment of woolens from Ireland due and there is always documentation and paper that come along with the bolts of fabric.”
“Yes, of course, sir. Thank you, Mr. Gardiner!” Then, in his strained London accent, “I am grateful for your condescension and consideration of my desires.” He gave a cheeky smile and turned the page on his newspaper, ending the conversation and leaving Edward to finish his meal in amused silence before he walked over to his place of business in anticipation of another busy day.