“Not at all!” exclaimed Lord Selworth with considerable indignation, his colour still further heightened.
Though her mother appeared satisfied, Pippa wondered if it was the kind of work the viscount had done which embarrassed him, rather than the fact of working. If he were a character in one of the Gothic romances she found an agreeable change from polemics, he would have taken to the highways as a Gentleman of the Road.
With regret, she decided a career as a highwayman was sadly improbable. Perhaps he had been employed by one of those middle-men or jobbers whom Papa and Mr Cobbett regarded as abominable parasites.
Maybe that was the only work he could find, she thought charitably.
“Anyway, that is all in the past,” his lordship said hurriedly. “Now I am a peer; I have a seat in the House of Lords. I want to do what I can to help the poor, but I cannot expect to wield any influence unless I make an impression with my maiden speech. I have tried to compose a suitable oration,” he confessed, “but I made a mull of it.”
“So you wish to consult Prometheus?” Pippa guessed.
“I have long admired his writings. I hope he will realize that, quite apart from the injury to my pride,”—he gave Mrs Lisle a wry look—”it will do the cause no good if I stand up and make a cake of myself.”
“Speaking of cake,” Kitty put in, “do you wish me to make tea, Mama?”
“Pray do, my love. You will drink tea, gentlemen?”
“Thank you, ma’am, we shall be delighted.”
Mr Chubb mumbled something indistinguishable, turned crimson, and muttered semi-audibly, “Give you a hand, Miss Catherine.”
Kitty smiled at him and said, “How kind of you, sir.”
A besotted look on his face, he followed her out. Pippa swallowed a sigh. Her sister had made another instant conquest.
Lord Selworth frowned after his friend, but quickly returned to business. “I am sorely in need of Prometheus’s advice, Mrs Lisle. Naturally I expect to pay for his assistance.”
“No matter how much you are willing to pay, sir,” Mrs Lisle warned him, “Prometheus would never write or help to write anything not wholeheartedly in accord with my husband’s principles.”
“Nor would I ask it of him, ma’am. I fancy my aims agree with those of the late Mr Lisle and the gentleman who has stepped into his shoes, or picked up his quill, I should say.”
Mrs Lisle nodded approvingly. “I am delighted to hear it. The poor and voteless have too few champions in the House of Lords.”
“Mama!” Pippa exclaimed in alarm. “I think it most unlikely that Prometheus will be willing to unmask, even in so noble a cause.” Drat, she should not have risked the pun. Being clever might arouse the viscount’s suspicions. She must strive to seem featherwitted—yet she could not let Mama make unredeemable promises. “Did not Mr Cobbett’s letter say those horrid Tories are threatening him with imprisonment again?”
“I assure you, Miss Lisle, I should do nothing to endanger Prometheus. His secret would be safe with me. Besides, he is no vitriolic insurrectionist, as Cobbett frequently appears to be. Cobbett’s prejudices too often get the better of his common sense, and even drive him to be careless with facts, whereas Prometheus is known for his brilliant use of reasoned argument.”
Pippa felt herself blushing at this fervent compliment. “I beg your pardon, sir,” she said hastily, hoping he would ascribe her pink face to embarrassment for having misjudged him. “I did not mean to suggest that you would betray Prometheus on purpose.”
“Your concern for the gentleman’s safety does you credit, Miss Lisle.” The viscount’s warm smile did nothing to cool her cheeks. “He is a close friend of the family, I collect, or a relative, perhaps?”
To Pippa’s relief, her mother drew his lordship’s attention. “I have no sons, Lord Selworth,” she said, with severity belied by the twinkle in her eye, “nor brothers, nor nephews.”
Perfectly true, and perfectly irrelevant.
“I did not intend to probe, ma’am. Or perhaps I did—my apologies. However, it is clear that you are personally acquainted with Prometheus. All I ask is that you set my proposal fairly before him.”
“A reasonable request, is it not, Pippa? If you will leave your direction, sir, I shall see that you are notified of the outcome, one way or the other.”
“If you think you might have an answer for me by tomorrow, we shall put up at the inn in the village.”
“The Jolly Bodger is not known for its comfort, sir,” Pippa advised him, trying to discourage him from remaining in the vicinity. “It is little more than a tavern.”
“The Jolly Bodger?” Kitty asked cheerfully as she ushered in Mr Chubb bearing a laden tea-tray. “Are you staying there tonight? Set it down here, if you please, sir. Shall I pour, Mama?”
On receiving an affirmative, she busied herself with cups and saucers, allotting the only two remaining matching sets to the gentlemen.
“Are we staying, Wynn?” Mr Chubb enquired, passing tea and honey-cake. Pippa thought he sounded hopeful.
“The inn is shockingly uncomfortable,” she re-stressed, “and I have heard horrid tales of their dinners.”
“You are welcome to dine with us, Lord Selworth, Mr Chubb,” Mrs Lisle offered, “if you care to dare the other discomforts. We have not room to put you up, alas.”
Pippa stared at her mother in dismay. She was positively encouraging the viscount! Surely she did not suppose Pippa was prepared to disclose her secret to him?
He would be incredulous at first. Once convinced of the truth, he would cease to admire and start to wonder at her. Like Dr. Samuel Johnson, he would say, doubtless to himself, being a courteous gentleman, “a woman preaching is like a dog’s walking on his hind legs. It is not done well: but you are surprised to find it done at all.”
Even if she could trust him to hold his tongue, of which she was by no means certain, to have him regard her as a nine days’ wonder would be painful, she acknowledged. Not that he showed any signs of admiring her for herself. She had no reason to expect it. Nor did she consider him anything out of the common way for a personable gentleman—
Until he smiled, and he was smiling at her now, the dastard!
“You are thoughtful, Miss Lisle,” he said in an undertone.
Mama was occupied in listening to Mr Chubb’s long, inarticulate utterance of gratitude for her invitation, which Pippa gathered had been accepted while she reflected. “I trust,” Lord Selworth continued, “that the presence of two extra mouths at dinner will cause no difficulties?”
Pippa was about to inform him waspishly of her ignorance of such housekeeping details. Realizing he might well enquire as to how she occupied her time if not in womanly domestic tasks, she drowned the words in a gulp of tea.
Her face must have reflected her annoyance, however, for he suggested tentatively, “Shall we cry off? Be honest with me.”
It was considerate of him to ask, she told herself sheepishly. Most men would not think twice about the awkwardness of feeding unexpected guests. “I am sure Mama would not have invited you were there any difficulty, sir,” she said, her tone cool.
“I fear you are still not persuaded of my innocuous intentions towards your friend. I give you my word, Miss Lisle, no harm shall come to him through me. He has only to refuse my request and not another word shall be said—I shall cease to seek him out. But pray don’t deny him the chance to decide for himself.”
Pippa had already decided. She wished she could say so without further ado. Since that was impossible, she sighed and promised, “I shall not try to keep Mama from discussing your offer with Prometheus.”
* * * *
Standing at the parlour window, Pippa watched the gentlemen in their top hats and greatcoats tramping down the garden path in the dusk, on the way to take rooms at the Jolly Bodger. Their tethered horses’ ears stuck up above the beech hedge, still thickly hung with dead brown leaves.
The dead leaves depressed her. So did the muddy flower-beds on each side of the path, though snowdrops bravely strove to raise their heads, battered and splattered by the recent rains, among green spikes of daffodil and papery crocus buds. In spite of their promise of Spring, she felt Winter would go on for ever.
Much as she loved Mama and Kitty, the spice had gone out of life when Papa died.
Her writing—the emotions aroused by the injustices she wrote about—were a palliative, not a remedy. When she laid down her quill and posted the result to Mr Cobbett, the emptiness returned.
What frightened her was that she saw no end to the desert. Kitty would marry, whether John Ruddock or some other love-struck swain, and go away. Pippa might surrender her hand to Mr Postlethwaite, but her heart was untouched. Worse, she would have to give up the work which, she sometimes fancied, was all that kept her from running mad.
Would children compensate? She found it impossible to imagine indulging with the vicar in those intimacies necessary to create a family.
The click of the gate-latch returned her to the present. She swung back to the lamp-lit room.
“Mama, this is the outside of enough. You know I dare not reveal my authorship.”
“It would have looked very singular, my love, had we declined to convey Lord Selworth’s proposal. He might have attempted to approach Prometheus in some other way over which we had less control. At the very least his curiosity would be aroused, and by conjecture he might arrive at the truth. He struck me as an intelligent and determined young man.”
“Pig-headed! As though a hundred others could not help him equally well—a dozen, at any rate. You are right, of course, but I wish you had insisted on writing with the answer instead of encouraging him to stay by inviting him to dinner!”
Her mother laughed. “I had no choice in the matter once you had abused the Bodger’s fare.”
“Perhaps that was a mistake,” Pippa admitted with a wry grimace. “You will just have to tell him tomorrow that you have spoken to Prometheus, who desired you to convey a refusal.”
Mrs Lisle had opened her work-box as soon as the gentlemen left. She was darning a stocking-heel, and her needle flashed back and forth twice before she responded, “Are you so sure you ought to refuse, Pippa?”
“Yes,” Pippa said promptly. Lord Selworth had succeeded in shaking her composure without even trying. To work with him would be to endure a constant state of uncomfortable ferment. “Even if I agreed, I expect he would change his mind as soon as he discovered Prometheus is a female. And though he may be willing to keep the secret, who can guess whether he is capable of it? Should he let slip only to Mr Chubb—”
“No fear of Mr Chubb letting the cat out of the bag,” said Kitty, giggling as she glanced up from her hemming. “It was a struggle to extract a single word from him. He is woefully shy.”
“With ladies, certainly,” Pippa said, “but I daresay he is on easier terms among gentlemen.”
“Do you think so?” Kitty enquired with interest. “I hope you are right, for he is quite amiable. He was interested in my chickens, or at least kind enough to seem so, and he helped with the tea-tray, though I fancy he had never before set foot in a kitchen! I hate to picture him going through life with his tongue tied in knots.”
“He had more to say for himself than John Ruddock,” Mrs Lisle pointed out tartly. “What a mooncalf the boy is!”
“A veritable nodcock,” Pippa agreed, “but we are straying from the point, Mama. I cannot risk telling Lord Selworth that I write the articles, so I must refuse him.”
“I suppose so, my love. It is a great pity, for if William Cobbett is imprisoned again and forced to stop publishing the
Register
for a while, the money from Lord Selworth would come in handy.”
“I doubt he could pay much. Title and fortune do not always coincide. Did you not notice how shabby his clothes are?”
“Yes,” said her mother thoughtfully, needle poised in mid air. “It is the more admirable that he wishes to spend part of what he has to ensure a serious reception of his ideas for the relief of the truly poor.”
“The viscount may indeed be all that is admirable. The situation remains unchanged. He will have to contrive without my assistance.”
“Pippa,” said Kitty, “I do not perfectly understand why you cannot help Lord Selworth without his knowing who you are. That you are Prometheus, I mean. He will be in London, after all, and you here, so you will have to write back and forth. You have only to tell him Prometheus chooses to communicate through you, rather than directly.”
“He might believe it,” Pippa said doubtfully, “given the present threat to Mr Cobbett.” Her resistance began to crumble. With Lord Selworth at a distance, there was no danger to her peace of mind.
“I wonder.” Mrs Lisle’s gaze was fixed on an invisible scene. A smile curved her lips. “Yes, it could work. A clever notion, Kitty love, and I see no reason why it should not work even if we were in London.”
“Mama!” cried her daughters as one.
Kitty’s eyes sparkled with excited hope. “We are going to London?” she asked.
“Impossible,” Pippa objected. “Lord Selworth would be bound to discover our whereabouts.”
“We shall not try to keep it from him. What is important is to give him the impression that Prometheus remains in the country.”
“Corresponding with his lordship, through me?” Pippa felt a peculiar twist of anticipation. Alarmed, she protested, “But, Mama, he might expect to deal with me in person if we were in Town.”
“Very likely, my love.”
“I cannot!”
“Mama,” Kitty burst out, “can we truly go to London? Is it not horridly expensive?”
“I have been saving, thanks to your sister’s contributions. Pippa had her Season, and I have always intended that you should, too. I had thought to wait until next Spring—you will be nineteen by then, but better another twelvemonth and another few pounds put by. However....” Mrs Lisle paused dramatically.
“With what Lord Selworth will pay Pippa, we shall have enough?”
“We do not know what he will pay,” Pippa reminded her, “and it is not likely to be a great deal.”
“I have a better notion.” With the air of a fairground conjurer pulling a gold-watch from a yokel’s hatband, Mrs Lisle continued, “We shall not ask Lord Selworth for money. We shall tell him Prometheus is so kind a friend of ours that he wishes to be paid with introductions for you girls into the best Society!”