Marianne and the Marquis

‘You might enjoy yourself in Bath,’ Marianne reasoned. ‘You are always saying that there are never enough books in the library in Mallham, Jo. I dare say there will be many more in Bath, for it is a fashionable spa.’

Mallham was the small neighbouring village, and their nearest town was Huntingdon, a drive of some fifteen miles. While the Reverend Horne had lived, they had managed to visit the town every few weeks to purchase or borrow books, but now, without the carriage that they could no longer afford, it was impossible.

‘Yes, I suppose there is that,’ Jo agreed, looking thoughtful. ‘And there may be some literary circles I might join for the time we are there.’

‘There is also the matter of Lucy’s future,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘I know she is young yet, but she will wish to marry one day, and I shall never be in a position to give her a Season in town. Your godmother may do something for you, Marianne, and Jo may find a husband in Bath…if she wishes—but what of Lucy?’

The sisters turned to look at Lucy. She was sitting by the window, looking out, her head full of dreams, hardly aware of the discussion going on behind her, but she turned to look at them and smiled.

‘Did someone speak my name? I was dreaming again…of a knight on a white horse who came and rescued me from the castle of the wicked witch. He took me to his home in a land where the sun always shines, and then I sent for all of you to come and live with me. And we were all happy ever after.’

‘Oh, Lucy,’ Mrs Horne said and shook her head, smiling because, though she tried very hard not to favour her, Lucy was her baby and her darling. ‘You read too many fairy stories, my love. I fear that you will be disappointed one day when you discover that the knights you dream of are only fables.’

‘Oh, I know that,’ Lucy replied, uncurling from her seat in the window and coming towards them. She was perhaps potentially prettier than either of her sisters with hair that floated like white gold about her face and made her look like one of the princesses she dreamed of, her eyes a deep-sea blue that seemed as mysterious as the ocean. ‘I just like to dream because everything is so awful. I did hear what my aunt said, but neither Marianne or Jo want to go with her. Do they have to, Mama?’

‘I am not certain that I shall refuse after all,’ Jo said and put an affectionate arm about Lucy’s waist. ‘It will be an experience, and an author must experience life to write about it…’ She waited expectantly for their questions.

‘Jo?’ her mother asked anxiously. ‘Just what are you up to?’

‘I have decided to write a book,’ Jo said and laughed as her mother looked shocked. ‘It is not so very wicked, Mama. Other ladies do it and I think I should like to try, though of course I cannot afford to have it published, and I do not imagine a publisher would pay me. However, for my own pleasure and that of my sisters, I shall write my story.’

‘How exciting,’ Lucy said. ‘Will it have knights and princesses in towers, Jo?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘It will be a love story, Lucy, though it may not end as your fairy stories do with everyone living happily ever after.’

‘I shall look forward to hearing you read little bits of it,’ Marianne said, ‘though we may have to wait for a while, because I think I should go down to Aunt Bertha almost immediately, do you not, Mama?’

‘Oh yes,’ her mother said and clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Do you suppose that poor boy is still waiting for my answer?’

‘I asked him to return in the morning when I went to the door with my aunt, Mama. I knew you would wish to consider your reply. He will be here at seven of the clock tomorrow so that your letter may catch the mail coach at half-past seven.’

‘How thoughtful you are, dearest,’ her mother said, giving her a look of approval. ‘I hope that you did not mind giving up the visit to Bath in favour of your godmother?’

‘You must know that I did not,’ Marianne said. ‘It is always a pleasure to see Aunt Bertha, and I could not do otherwise when she wrote and asked for me especially. I expect she feels lonely, though I know she has a companion.’

‘I thought you would feel as you ought,’ her mother said with a smile. ‘We must go through your clothes, Marianne. Fortunately, you had a new evening dress last year, which you have hardly worn, but we must see if we can manage something further—I would not have you go there in rags.’

‘I am not yet reduced to that,’ Marianne said and laughed. ‘Indeed, several of my gowns will be perfectly suitable with a little refurbishment.’

‘You must have at least one new gown,’ her mother said with a fond smile. ‘I had been saving my shillings for your birthdays, but I think Marianne’s gown should come first—do you all agree?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jo said. ‘Aunt Wainwright will not have me shame her so she is bound to have some dresses made for me. You don’t mind, do you, Lucy?’

‘Of course not,’ Lucy said, though her birthday was in a few weeks’ time. ‘Marianne must have some new clothes.’

‘We shall go into Huntingdon and buy them,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘There is no time to waste, Marianne. We shall take the mail coach in the morning—all of us. It will be a treat and we surely deserve it after these past few months.’

The girls looked at each other in delight. Jo thought of the books she might subscribe from the library, Lucy thought of the adventure it would be to ride in the mail coach, and Marianne was wondering how much ribbon and trifles she could buy with five shillings, which was all the money she possessed in the world.

However, Mama had been hoarding her shillings for some time and she actually had ten pounds in her purse when they descended from the coach the following day.

There was but one shop in the small town that sold gowns already made up, and they set off immediately, because Jo wanted to help her sister choose her new clothes before visiting the library.

In the event, Mrs Herrington had three gowns in stock that would fit Marianne: a pale blue silk with a high waist and little puff sleeves that would do for an evening party, a dark blue walking gown and a yellow afternoon dress. All three looked well on Marianne, needing only a few tucks here and there, which she could easily do herself. After some deliberation she decided that she would need the evening gown the most, but the seamstress saw their difficulty and told Mrs Horne that she could make a good price for all three.

‘Oh, no, Mama, that would be much too expensive. I can easily refurbish some of my others with new ribbons and some silk flowers,’ Marianne protested.

‘How much for the three?’ Mrs Horne asked bravely. She kept her smile in place when she was told that the evening gown was five guineas, but twelve would buy all three gowns.

‘Oh, dear, I am afraid that is beyond me,’ Mrs Horne said and frowned. ‘It is very reasonable, madam, but too much for me. We shall take the evening gown, but must say no to the others.’

The seamstress looked disappointed. ‘They were made for a customer who did not pay her bills,’ the seamstress replied. ‘I am letting them go at cost to recover some of my money.’

‘I wish we might take all three,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘But it cannot be done. If you would be kind enough to have it delivered to the posting inn, madam. We have some more shopping to do.’ She smiled at Marianne. ‘You will need slippers, too, my love—and a bonnet if we can manage it.’

‘It is a beautiful dress, Mama,’ Marianne said as they left the shop afterwards. ‘But expensive.’

‘I should have liked to purchase all three,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘But we shall buy some material from the market and you and Jo can make at least one afternoon dress before you leave if you each do some of the sewing.’

‘I’ll help, too,’ Lucy said and then laughed, for she was not yet as clever a seamstress as her sisters, being inclined to fall into a dream over her work.

‘Yes, you can help, dearest,’ Marianne said and smiled at her. ‘Besides, I have several dresses that can be refurbished with new sashes and some fresh lace.’

‘I have some lace put by,’ her mama said. ‘Yes, I dare say it will be enough, Marianne—and who knows, your aunt might give you something.’

‘You do not mean Aunt Wainwright?’ Marianne frowned. ‘I had rather not, Mama.’

‘I meant my aunt Bertha,’ Mrs Horne said and smiled. ‘Now, let us see what else we can buy…’

Two pairs of slippers and a pair of boots were bought next, but the bonnets proved too expensive. Marianne purchased some ribbons to refurbish her old ones, and a bunch of silk flowers. Both she and Jo were good at making and trimming their hats, and it was something they enjoyed doing together.

Jo had slipped away to the library while they were purchasing some small items from Mama’s remaining shillings, and returned with an armful of books for herself and Lucy. Her young sister was delighted with the illustrated copy of fables and thanked her sister with a hug and a kiss.

After partaking of some bread and honey and tea at the inn, they collected their parcels and climbed wearily into the coach heading home.

‘Well, that was a splendid day,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘I shall save my money again for some months and then we may do it again—perhaps for Lucy next time, because I am sure that Agatha will give you a generous sum to purchase your clothes, Jo. She would not allow you to appear with her in Bath looking dowdy.’

‘Yes, I dare say,’ Jo replied. She already had her nose in a book and was lost in a world of her own.

Mrs Horne gave her a rueful look. Jo was the least easy to manage of her daughters and she dreaded to think what might happen if she accompanied her aunt to Bath.

When they arrived back at the Vicarage, it was to discover that a letter had come from Lord Wainwright. In it, he said that he would be sending Marianne to Cornwall in one of his own carriages. She might therefore seek a refund on the public coach ticket that her godmother had purchased for her, and he had sent a small purse of gold sovereigns, which, once opened and counted, amounted to twenty pounds.

‘Oh, Mama,’ Marianne said in awe. ‘It is far too much. We must send it back. I could not take all that from my uncle.’

‘Nonsense,’ Mrs Horne said and smiled. ‘It is good of him, to be sure, and I did not expect it—but he would be offended if we returned it. You must write him a letter, my dear, and thank him for his kindness.’

‘I am very willing to do so,’ Marianne said, ‘if you think we may accept such generosity?’