his elderly, watery eyes, this gave him an off-putting, slightly seedy impression. That was misleading.
He was, Juliana had discovered, extremely intelligent. At eighty years of age he had retired from the Inns of Court with a healthy pension; it was paid by several grateful lawyers whose careers he had burnished by steering clients their way, by discovering long-forgotten points of law, by tracing — or otherwise procuring — essential witnesses, and by knowing where to buy good malmsey. He had no formal qualifications; he was a pig-keeper's son. He knew more law than most judges, but he had not been born a gentleman so could not use this knowledge directly. Juliana's grandmother had pretended to think he was legally qualified, though in truth Roxanne recognised exactly what he was, just as he understood her position. They were outsiders. They had invaded a level of society that was theoretically closed to them — and they stuck there tenaciously. Roxanne had intended that something should be done about this for Juliana — and Mr Gadd concurred.
So here they were.
'What do we have, Master Gadd?'
'A pink-and-white mother's boy — manageable. And there's his supporter — who needs watching.'
Juliana and her guardian had had a sensible exchange of views on her future. They were prepared to deal with any wooers who came to call. 'If he looks sound husband material, we'll drop him!' chirruped Mr Gadd, pretending to level a firing piece at some unwary bird in a coppice. Juliana, who feared that shooting down a husband might be the only way to catch one, smiled as if she too were enjoying the chase.
Two gentlemen was more than they hoped for. Mr Gadd whispered quickly that it was only to be expected that the scholar-suitor would be nervous and would bring a friend. Juliana would have liked an encouraging friend of her own. But she had never had friends. Her grandmother had thought English children were nasty creatures.
All the same, she was not alone. She was lucky to have found herself placed in the care of a guardian with whom she could converse on a practical level. Their good humour together only increased her sense of obligation. She did not wish to burden Mr Gadd. Besides, Juliana might be only seventeen, but she had a keen sense of how the world worked; she preferred not to be alone in his care too long. So far, he was sheltering her with the gravest of good manners, but he was a man. Roxanne had been a man's woman — and Juliana knew what that meant. Her grandmother remained flirtatious right until she died; Mr Gadd had been a conquest, undoubtedly. Mr Gadd on his stick-thin legs might yet launch some tottering sally against Juliana's honour. Girls who have other girls as friends give themselves courage against unwanted amorousness, but Juliana had no such confidante. Her chaperone was Little Prue, though she suspected instinctively that Little Prue might beat off an attacker with a warming pan — yet might as easily decide it was not her place to interfere.
So one reason Juliana welcomed marriage, marriage to anyone who seemed suitable, was that she wanted her own home, where she would have standing as the housewife and could enforce rules for her own protection.
Juliana and Mr Gadd knew in advance that Edmund Treves had a widowed mother, to whom he was close, and also siblings. This could entail married life with the Treves family. While Juliana might find herself immediate soulmates with her mother-in-law, she could equally end up in thrall to a harridan. She had been surprised when Mr Gadd discussed this. He actually warned her against life as a young bride in another, older, woman's home. His unfashionable attitude, which had a ring of experience, was her one glimpse of his personal background.
Until three months beforehand Juliana and her guardian had never met. He knew her grandmother only briefly in London, and although he prepared Roxanne's will on that occasion, nine years later when Roxanne died he was initially alarmed to find himself left in charge of Juliana. He took to the responsibility, however. Roxanne had foreseen this. Mr Gadd, who had never had dependants, was thoroughly enjoying himself as Juliana's guardian. Still, even though she knew Roxanne had vetted him, Juliana could not absolutely depend on him. When it came to accepting or rejecting the suitor, he would advise, but she had to decide.
Mr Gadd paused, with his hand on the latch, winked, then opened the door. Juliana took one hard look at the two men in the parlour, before she cast down her grey eyes modestly as a young girl was supposed to do.
Once she thought she could do so discreetly, naturally she then peeked.
Orlando Lovell — sombrely clad, heavy spurs, uptwirled moustache, pinched lips — had taken possession of one of the solid square wooden armchairs, whence he had been eyeing the room. Edmund Treves — shaved until he bled and blushing pink — was standing. His gaze fluttered on her guardian but then came directly to Juliana. He wanted to know what was being offered to him. Juliana felt equally determined to assess her suitor: the younger, taller man, who wore a braided cherry suit slashed over silver satin (the main colour clashing with his red hair) and a billowing satin cloak wrapped over one arm. Mr Gadd had led her to expect someone wimpish, though in fact Treves's features were firm, with a forward-thrust chin, and his build was chunky. He appeared more athletic than scholarly. Juliana, who could not afford to make mistakes here, immediately assessed him as good-natured, but too young.
She felt more wary of the other man, who was so coolly assessing his surroundings. The room had linenfold oak panelling and contained only two monumental box chairs, plus a rather ugly fifty-year-old buffet, a long side table with two open levels, which currently displayed no plate, not even second-best pewter. There was an open hearth, where a modest log fire blazed, but it had made little encroachment on the chill that gripped the long-empty house. Nobody present, however, would have challenged the fact that a judge should own more houses than he could live in, and should be able to abandon a fine property, without tenants, for years at a time.
Juliana was introduced. For this, Lovell rose rather reluctantly; both visitors swept off their broad-brimmed beaver hats. Everyone uttered polite nonsense for the briefest time possible. Lovell returned to his great chair, leaving Mr Gadd to occupy the other, while Juliana and Edmund took separate window seats. It left both of them relegated to the sidelines, with a pillar between them. If Juliana had foreseen this, before the meeting she would have dragged in a couple of leather-backed dining chairs. She wanted to peer at the suitor, while the others talked.
Mr Gadd crisply enumerated Juliana's talents: chaste, sweet-natured, well read, religious, a good seamstress, able to manage a kitchen and a still. He called her fair, because 'beauty' was conventional. They could see for themselves that she had brown hair, grey eyes, straight teeth, a small nose (unlike her French grandmother), and a medium figure that could probably cope with child-bearing. Her manner seemed reserved. That was good. A woman had to accept her fate meekly.
'You have been at court, Mistress?' asked Treves, sounding hopeful as he leaned forward awkwardly from the other window seat. He was still flustered and blushing.
'She is far too young!' remonstrated Mr Gadd, with a friendly chuckle.
'You are French?' demanded Lovell. Nothing flustered him.
'My grandmother was French, Captain Lovell.'
'The French court is full of foppish men and filthy women.' He sounded as if his sneers were based on experience — though Juliana thought anyone could generalise in such a way.
'Perhaps,' Juliana countered, 'that was why Grand-mere was pleased to leave.'
Her retort was too strong. All three men blenched.
'The grandmother married a cloth merchant of Colchester, very well-to-do,' Mr Gadd said rapidly. It was true, although the cloth merchant was a haberdasher and he had vanished from the scene rather quickly. 'Drowned at sea — so sad!' was how Roxanne had passed it off in her brisk manner. She always made it sound as though Mr Carlill was a bolter, who had left her in the lurch. Perhaps. Juliana had occasionally wondered disloyally whether he was dispatched by other means. For certain all his money and his stock-in-trade, while it lasted, remained with Roxanne.
He also left Roxanne pregnant — the only time the Frenchwoman was caught out. She thought her son Germain a British milksop, but brought him up diligently. She never complained, even when Germain spent most of his father's money (Roxanne kept some of it back in secret) and himself failed in business.
Germain Carlill survived childhood, grew up feckless and married a young woman called Mary, who was the antithesis of his mother, the simplicity of Mary's name and nature throwing her exotic foreign mother-in-law into high relief. Mary produced Juliana, miscarried, miscarried again, then died. Seeing there was no hope her dreamy son would take proper care of the little girl, Roxanne stepped in. Though never maternal previously, she and her granddaughter grew very close. Juliana was a sunny, self-reliant child. It helped.
None of that needed to be recounted to Treves and Lovell. The background and experiences which had formed Juliana's personality were irrelevant; only her paper assets counted.
'Are you able to supply a dowry list?' It was Lovell who asked.
