Cake and Courtship by Mark Brownlow

Author:Mark Brownlow [Brownlow, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9783903230002
Publisher: Lost Opinions e.U.
Published: 2017-10-26T04:00:00+00:00

Despite the intentions born on my recent carriage ride from London, I soon found my old cynicism knocking at the door to my soul like a returning beggar.

There was little joy at Longbourn. Perhaps it was the way Mrs Bennet’s lips tightened at any mention of Mr Collins, or how one or other daughter could often be found staring bleakly into the distance, hands closed over a volume of poetry.

My mood was not helped by the clouds that spread a wet blanket over days dulled further by the arrival of a letter from Hunsford’s paragon of obsequiousness.

“Read it, dear Lizzy, and rejoice in your lucky escape,” I said, when alone with my daughter. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “It is easily summarised. He takes five lines to express his gratitude for his first visit here, and another ten to announce the next one. The plague returns to Longbourn. Shall we both leave for London and find comfort and safety within the walls of Brecknell’s leather-bound treasures? No book will berate me for choosing your happiness over that of your mother. Nor will any book spend thirty minutes apologising for dropping a soup spoon.”

There was nothing to be done but to take long winter walks and cover myself in books, port and a sprinkling of self-pity until I could begin to work on John’s behalf.

That task began with the next Society meeting. The capricious Hertfordshire winter teased us with clear skies, so I rode forth to the Flighted Duck in better spirits than of late.

With little Society business of note in December, we used the time to sail through the trusted conversational waters of politics, the war, pigeons and partridges. Then we dined on those two very birds, our bowls and plates filled with steaming soups, stews, and pies.

Fielding’s sigh of satisfaction at the meal seemed greater than my own, perhaps because he enjoyed little game at home. His wisdom was rich, but his aim poor. The wildlife had little to fear from the landowner’s gun on Fielding’s manor.

I finished my wine, drummed a few bars of a Beethoven piano sonata on my stomach, then stood, tapping my glass with a spoon. Jackson was the last to give me his full attention, since that required dragging it from a promising slice of Mrs Tincton’s sponge cake.

“Gentlemen! You remember my friend John Barton and the enigmatic Miss Hayter?”

“The fellow who is Yorkshire?” said Stanhope. “As I recall, Jackson provided all the information needed to bring about the desired meeting?”

“I did at that. Duty complete and problem solved. Now pass the cake.”

My good humour began to slip away like one of Fielding’s beaters, fearful of another wayward shot from his master. “Well, yes, Jackson’s intelligence was of considerable help, but John has not yet met the lady.” That brought groans from around the table. “I, on the other hand, have. In London. Just over a fortnight ago.”

“And you did not think to tell any of us before?” I knew Fielding well enough to hear the disappointment in his voice.

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