A Woman of Consequence

a moment by the sight of her village.

And Dido must wait, full of half-formed apprehensions, as Anne looked busily to right and left. There were thatched cottages and a newer little row of brick almshouses – all looking trim with smoke from their chimneys hanging low in the damp air. There was a green with a well and stocks, geese and sleeping curs. A woman who was beating a rag rug against her garden wall stopped and curtsied. All seemed to be as it should – but for two small boys who had climbed onto the stocks and were balancing there with waving arms for as long as they might.

Anne hurried forward with a reprimand immediately. The boys both started, fell and struggled to their feet, attempting to rub their bruised shins, pull off their caps and apologise at the same time.

‘Now,’ said Anne turning briskly back to Dido, ‘of what were we talking? Oh yes! Mr Lomax. He is a very gentlemanlike man, and I have been wanting to get him a wife for some time.’ Dido’s apprehensions began to take on a very unpleasant form. ‘It is almost six years since his wife died,’ continued Anne as they skirted the green ‘and that is long enough for a man to repine, is it not?’

‘Is he repining?’ asked Dido – from the corner of her eye, she could see the two boys putting out their tongues at Anne’s back.

‘Well, I suppose he must be repining. For I am sure he was devoted to her.’

‘Oh.’ Dido was uncomfortable, but she had never heard anything of Mrs Lomax and could not help asking, ‘what kind of a woman was she?’

‘A charming woman! Very quiet and proper …’ Anne paused and cast a rather anxious, assessing look at her friend. ‘And always very smartly dressed.’

Dido set the basket down and endeavoured to catch her breath. But Anne’s look made her suddenly aware not only of her hot red face, but also the mud on the hem of her petticoat and one or two white feathers which were clinging to her dark pelisse.

‘Exactly what age are you, Dido?’

‘Oh! I am old enough to wish not to answer the question!’

‘Lucy Crockford supposes you to be forty.’

‘Then Lucy Crockford is wrong!’ she cried immediately. ‘I only turned six and thirty in August.’

‘Yes,’ said Anne with satisfaction, ‘that is just about as I thought. It is not so very old. I think, after all, I may make a match of it – if I put my mind to it. Though I would, as a friend, counsel you to take a little more care of your appearance when he comes – and perhaps try to be a little less … odd and argumentative.’ She turned and hurried on along the lane.

‘I thank you for you advice! But I do not think …’

‘Whatever is the matter? Do you dislike Mr Lomax?’

‘He is a very pleasant gentleman, but …’

‘Well then, it is decided.’ She turned back again – this time with real concern in her eyes. ‘I have been very worried about you of late and I am sure marriage will be the best way of securing your future happiness.’ She was too well-bred to allude to the sinking of Charles’s bank, the consequent loss of income to the Kent family – and Dido’s residence in her sister-in-law’s household. But there could be no doubting that it was all very much in her mind. ‘It is a very eligible match, and I mean to do my utmost to promote it. I shall insist that he attends our All Hallows ball, and make him dance with you. And, while he is here, I shall talk to him particularly about your sense and economy.’

Dido sighed inwardly. Why, after a woman turned thirty, must ‘economy’ become her greatest recommendation? It had such a very unappealing sound. Not that she wished to appeal to Mr Lomax, she reminded herself hastily. But, nonetheless, it was mortifying to be accorded such dull praise.

They had come a little out of the village now to a place where the lane crossed a brook in a shallow, noisy ford and, to one side, a single plank gave passage for pedestrians. Beyond the stream, a path wound down through coppiced hazel trees to Woodman’s Hollow where a thin streak of smoke could be seen rising from ragged grey thatch. Anne took the basket into her own hands and stepped onto the bridge, but did not immediately hurry away to distribute advice, broth, linen and disapproval to the unfortunate family in the cottage. It would seem she had something further to say.

‘The fact is, Dido, we must act quickly over Mr Lomax, or I fear we shall lose him to another woman.’

‘Another woman? Do you believe he is paying attentions to another woman?’ The question came out a great deal more sharply than it should have done.

‘No. But I rather fear that other women may begin to pay attentions to Mr Lomax. For he may soon become much more eligible than he has been.’

‘I am not quite sure I understand you.’

‘Well, you may know that he is encumbered with a very dissolute son who seems bent upon spending all his father’s money.’

‘Yes,’ said Dido. ‘I have met Mr Tom Lomax.’ It was not an experience which she wished to repeat. And, since she had once succeeded in thwarting the young man in a particularly unpleasant, but profitable, scheme, she did not doubt that the feeling was mutual.

‘The existence of the son,’ continued Anne briskly, ‘has, I know, deterred many women who would otherwise have found the father very agreeable indeed.’

‘Ah,’ said Dido. The notion of other women finding Mr Lomax agreeable was surprisingly disagreeable. ‘But,’ with a great effort at indifference, ‘what is the change? Am I to suppose that Mr Tom Lomax has undergone a revolution in character?’

‘No, but he has undergone a revolution in fortune. It seems his father may soon be rid of him. I had it in a letter from town this morning that Tom Lomax looks set to become engaged – to a woman with twenty thousand pounds.’

‘Oh!’

‘Dido, are you unwell?’

‘No, no I am perfectly well. Just a little tired from all the walking I have done this morning.’ But all the heat had drained suddenly from her face and her legs were weak. She sat down hurriedly on the end of the bridge.

‘Well then,’ said Anne, ‘I shall leave you to rest and be about my business, for I have a great deal to do. But, remember, we must act quickly before news of Mr Tom’s match gets abroad and other women begin to make a play for his father. And, Dido, please,’ she added with one last critical look as she crossed the stream, ‘give a little thought to your appearance. An unmarried woman must pay attention to her appearance if she would make a match. It is a principle of mine …’ Her voice trailed away through the hazel thicket and Dido was left alone with the chatter of the water and her own thoughts.

It was alarming how very significant this news of Tom’s prospects appeared. Why should it matter? It was true that once she had looked forward to just such a prosperous marriage for the son as the surest route to happiness for the father – and for herself. But that had been before their disagreement at Richmond. For many months now she had considered her own curiosity, Mr Lomax’s unbending disapproval, and the fear of horrible marital discord as much greater barriers to their union than the debts of his son.

So why, she demanded of herself as she watched the yellow leaves drift and twist upon the water, why should the prospect of Mr Lomax unshackled and free to marry take the breath from her body and the strength from her legs? Could it be that her resolve to refuse him was faltering?

It must not. That was her immediate thought – for there could be only one cause of the change and that was the wretched alteration in her own circumstances.

In the summer, as a free woman, with a home of her own, she had refused him. And was she now, wretched and dependent, to accept him? No. If she did, she would know that her motives were base. And, in addition to all the misery of conjugal disharmony, she would suffer the pain of despising herself as weak and mercenary.

Chapter Sixteen

‘Harriet,’ said Dido reluctantly. ‘I have promised Lucy that I will speak to you on her behalf.’

The scene, she thought, had better be got over quickly and this was as fair an opportunity as any she was likely to have. The abbey was very quiet just now. The gentlemen were all gone out shooting, the little girls were in