‘How did you get those trees to grow so quickly?’ asked Hannah, while she took rapid mental inventory of her appearance. Grecian bonnet bought in Bath, latest fashion, very good. Dark-brown printed linen ‘two-piece’, not Mrs Clarence’s, but bought from a dressmaker in Green Street, who had made it up for a lady who had gone abroad and showed no signs of returning, so Hannah had been able to purchase it for very little. Fashionable. The brown linen was patterned with tiny leaves of red, white and greeny-brown. It had a high-waisted jacket with a matching frill and long sleeves ending in a frill almost covering each green-gloved hand. Her shoes were of green calfskin with a small heel, and she wore stockings in the new shade of olive green. She longed for the courage to loop her gown over one arm to display a leg, as the young ladies did, for Hannah was proud of her legs, but guessed rightly it would be considered unbecoming in one of her years.
‘I had them put in fully grown, a whole avenue of lime-trees,’ said Sir George. ‘And come over here, Miss Pym. We are digging an ornamental lake.’
‘So you plan to keep Thornton Hall?’
‘I do not think so,’ said Sir George. ‘Gardening is my passion, and when the gardens are finished, they will add considerably to the value of the house.’
He led her through the gardens in the sunshine, describing plants and bushes, and Hannah listened in a happy daze, barely hearing what he said, aware that he was talking to her as he would talk to an equal. She was enjoying looking at his high-nosed face, his silvery-white hair, and his eyes, which were as blue as the cloudless sky above. There was a smell of warm, newly turned earth. A thrush sang on a swaying branch and Hannah turned her head quickly away to hide the fact that her eyes were full of happy tears.
‘So, now,’ he said finally, ‘we must have tea and hear your adventures. The caretaker’s wife is poorly at the moment, but I have my carriage and there is always Gunter’s, is there not, Miss Pym?’
Oh, thank heaven for Gunter’s, thought Hannah, sitting beside Sir George in an open carriage as they bowled through Hyde Park toll. Gunter’s, the confectioners in Berkeley Square, was one of the most fashionable rendezvous in London.
‘Now,’ said Sir George when they were facing each other over a lavish spread of tea and cakes, ‘tell me your news.’
Hannah’s odd eyes flashed green. ‘Once upon a time,’ she began, and Sir George settled back to listen to her tale with every appearance of a man prepared to enjoy himself.
And what a tale it was, reflected Sir George in amazement. There were the singing Judds; the carriage in the river; the beautiful Belinda, for Hannah did now remember Belinda as beautiful; the handsome marquess; and the wicked Penelope. He sat there, his tea forgotten, the cakes uneaten, as the story unwound, ending with the terrible Lady Bellamy and the flight to Gretna.
‘Well, by Jove,’ he exclaimed when she had finished. ‘I really think you should stay in London, Miss Pym. You attract adventures like a magnet. You are a brave and resourceful matchmaker if ever there was one. Surely you have had your fill of adventures now?’
Hannah shook her head. The wicked thought flashed through her mind that she would stay in London for the rest of her life, if only she could sit with him like this for half an hour a day. But she dreaded boring him, dreaded the day when he might consider he was becoming too friendly with this ex-servant of his brother. As yet, Hannah believed she was not in love with Sir George. She admired him greatly, she basked in the warmth of his interest, but that was all.
‘So where shall you go next?’
Hannah looked bewildered. ‘I have not thought about it,’ she said, remembering those long days filled with misery waiting for that letter that never came.
‘The Portsmouth road is a good one,’ said Sir George, calling for the waiter to take away the pot of tea, which had grown cold while he listened to Hannah’s adventures, and bring a fresh pot.
‘Portsmouth!’ Golden eyes looked at him. I have it, he thought, amused. Miss Pym’s eyes are blue when she is sad, green when she is excited, and golden when she is happy.
‘That is at the sea, is it not?’ asked Hannah.
‘Of course it is. A famous port which has seen many kings and queens. Robert, Duke of Normandy, landed there in 1101, bent on an argument with his brother Henry as to who should wear the crown. Richard the First gave the town its first charter. And at Portsmouth in the thirteenth century, I think, the first oranges were landed in England from a Spanish vessel as a present for the Castilian wife of Edward the First.’
‘I have never seen the sea,’ said Hannah.
‘Then I hope you arrive in fine weather and not in a fog.’
‘And what will you be doing, sir?’ asked Hannah.
‘I shall lead my usual idle life, going to my club, working on the gardens, travelling to see old friends.’
Hannah wondered if any of the old friends were ladies but did not have the courage to find out.
He began to talk of his travels while he had been in the diplomatic corps. But although he had travelled widely in foreign countries, he did not seem to have had any wild adventures such as Hannah Pym had experienced travelling on the English stage-coach. Hannah listened to his voice. She wished she could take home something from Gunter’s to remind her of this day. Chip a piece off the table, take a saucer – something, anything, to tell herself in later years that she had not dreamt it all. Then she noticed that the waiter had put an extra teaspoon beside her saucer by mistake. It was a small silver spoon stamped ‘Gunter’s’.
Hannah covered it with her handkerchief, and when Sir George lifted the lid of the teapot to see if there was any tea left, she slipped that spoon into her reticule.
They talked for another hour, and then Sir George remembered he had been invited to dinner and must go home and change.
He offered to drive her to Kensington, but Hannah said she would walk to the White Bear in Piccadilly and purchase a ticket for the Portsmouth coach.
He walked her to the corner of the square, swept off his hat, and kissed her gloved hand. And then he said the words that Hannah had prayed he might say.
‘Do not forget to let me know when you next return, Miss Pym. I shall not be going out of London for the next few weeks, so I shall be here to receive any letter you may send. Do take care and do not become involved in any more dangerous adventures.’
‘I am sure I shall have a very quiet journey,’ said Hannah. ‘I did not tell you, but the return journey from Bath was boring.’
He laughed and said, ‘You will soon be content to stay in London once the Season begins.’
‘I am afraid the London Season will not affect me, nor I it,’ said Hannah.
He looked at her in surprise, as if remembering for the first time that day that this lady was his brother’s former housekeeper. ‘But you must sample some of the delights of the Season, Miss Pym. Tell you what – you let me know when you are coming back and I will take you to the opera.’
Hannah curtsied low. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
He watched her as she walked off. He felt she should not be walking about London unescorted. Then he remembered his appointment and hurried off.
Hannah walked towards Piccadilly, breathing rapidly.
‘Oh, my heart,’ she muttered. ‘My poor heart will burst with gladness.’
But she remembered her duty and suddenly swung about and marched back to Gunter’s, and told little Mr Gunter firmly that she had taken one of his teaspoons with her as a memento and would now like to pay for it. She had not liked to do so in front of the gentleman.
Mr Gunter was not surprised, thinking that Hannah must be of the Quality, and he was used to humouring their little eccentricities.
So Hannah Pym slept that night in her narrow bed with the spoon under her pillow along with the glove he had kissed.
About the Author
M.C. Beaton is the author of the hugely successful Agatha Raisin, Hamish Macbeth and Edwardian murder mystery series, all published by Constable & Robinson. She left a full-time career in
