Pam Rosenthal - The Slightest Provocation

She’d gasped and giggled at the clods of earth (and worse) that he and his mates were throwing, now that Kit and his brother had gotten far enough away not to see. Good, she’d thought, that conceited Stansell boy deserves it.

“Good,” she’d called out, along with a few of the other children. “Good,” and “Throw ’em another, Peter. Throw ’em a good ’un!”

Her mother had come to fetch her just then; she had to wave good-bye to the children, sad to leave their play and oddly conscience-stricken, as though she’d witnessed-or even participated in-something she shouldn’t. Which had been a new sort of experience for her, because until then she’d liked nothing better than to learn something forbidden and mysterious, depending as she did upon just such surreptitiously gathered knowledge for her understanding of the world.

“… To add to the disarray,” Jessica was saying, “there’s a new laundry maid and I’m not sure she understood how I wanted her to iron the petticoats.” Putting her head out the window, she called to the coachman, “Can you go a bit faster, Mr. Dodge?”

Another fit of eye rolling on Elizabeth’s part.

“He can’t, Mama. Not until he gets that wheel fixed-don’t you remember?”

“She’s right.” Jessie smiled apologetically at Mary, conciliatingly at her daughter. “We’re still a bit at sixes and sevens with our vehicles, I’m afraid. It was one of the ways my old steward used to cheat me. He and the coachman were in league; repairs were shoddy, parts weren’t replaced.”

“And as you can see,” she told Mary over a late supper in her little parlor, “it’s not as though our Miss Elizabeth doesn’t know the details of managing things. She knows better than I do, as she demonstrates every day, just civilly enough that one can’t quite accuse her of pertness. It’s her particular pleasure to point out how much better a job, of everything, they do at Rowen. But to lift a finger to help…”

“She didn’t seem awfully pleased to see me. I confess it’s made me a bit peevish.”

“Well, she’s rather divided the world into friends and enemies. And any friend of mine …”

The laundry had been done satisfactorily. Jessica liked to mend the most delicate pieces herself; they brought a sweet green smell into the chamber. Mary took a deep, happy breath.

“I never have such clean linen as when I’m here.”

Jessica laughed. “Wasn’t that Brummell’s first principle? That no one could be a gentleman without plenty of country washing?”

“Or a lady, I expect,” Mary said, “though Brummell didn’t seem to think there was any art to being a lady.”

“It hasn’t been so easy, even to do a good laundry, with all the rain we’ve had. Still, today was lovely and it’s good luck you came when everything’s so fresh. You’ll sleep well tonight on the sheets we’ve put on your bed… Mary?”

“Yes, sorry… I must have drifted off for a moment.”

Her sister only nodded, it being clear that both of them were remembering the time when Jessica, who’d been home for a visit with Arthur and the children, had helped Mary tell a lie about the sheet she’d stolen.

“But I’ve forgotten the news,” Jessica said now, “that has set the countryside on its ear.”

“Not more machine breaking? Angry meetings?”

Jessica shook her head.

But if Richard were right, the government’s repression had driven the men to meet in secret. Better not to bring up that possibility, Mary thought. Not just yet anyway.

“Even so,” her sister continued, “there’s a good deal of grumbling, even rudeness, as you saw-well, what would one expect when there’s not enough employment? We’ll be improving things a little bit anyway, by hiring some of the young people as occasional help for our house party.

“But the news is that Kit’s brother the Ninth Marquess has had a second fit of apoplexy, just day before yesterday. It seems he’ll live; he speaks very little, though they’re hopeful of him getting some of that back-they’ve got him in an invalid chair. His son Gerald is on the continent; I should think they’ve summoned him.

“I shall have to call, of course. Not quite yet, though; let the young marchioness recover from the initial shock of it. Still, it’s awkward while you’re here. Not that anyone will mention your presence-the Stansells are quite masterful at not mentioning things, and even I shall hold my tongue in the matter of your visit. But you won’t mind too much if I go, will you, Mary?”

“Oh, dear. Yes. No. I mean, of course you should call.”

For a moment, she wondered if Kit would be coming down. Surely not; he’d want to be in London. And anyway, he knew that she was here.

Her face had given her away.

“You’ve seen him. And you haven’t told me.” Jessica’s gaze was as insistent, her voice as implacable, as about a stolen bedsheet a great many years ago.

“Tomorrow. After we meet with your nice new steward, and then the man who’ll be assessing the state of the water closets. I quite tremble at the possibilities, don’t you? Oh, and you didn’t finish your story about Fred and his school prank. Well, at least you’ve got one steady, dependable child out of your three. Julia writes that Joshua has taken wonderfully to business-Papa would have been proud of his namesake. And I’ve quite forgotten to go see Mrs. Ottinger down in the kitchen-do you think she’ll forgive me if I wait until tomorrow? Such a long day, I must go to bed… the coach… the ride…”

“Tell me now. Tell me everything.”

But she didn’t. Not really, and certainly not everything.

“We had a glass of wine,” she said, which was true in its way.

“We spoke a bit,” she added. “He didn’t apologize. He was the same arrogant, irresponsible boy we all remember. And then he went away and got himself quite horribly drunk over it.” None of which was a lie-more a matter of judicious elision.

“Poor Mary,” Jessica said. “But I must say, I’m a bit surprised. One would have thought that after such a successful military career… his brother the marquess spoke so proudly of him-quite a new thing from him, as you can imagine-which led me rather to hope…”

Everyone, it seemed, was hoping for something.

Well, everybody could stop right now.

“Drunk,” she said, “and debauched. Took himself off with the serving maid.”

“No.”

Well, that had had the desired effect. She nodded. “He hasn’t changed in the slightest, except that he’s added an overlay of Tory priggishness. He fancies a political career, you see. In the Home Office, of all places.”

“I expect I still feel guilty, for my… ah, contribution to his courtship, you know.”

Mary sighed. “I don’t know if it could rightly have been called a courtship-more like two wild young things hurling themselves at one another. And I was such an innocent. If you hadn’t showed me how to protect myself, heaven knows what would have happened.”

They were silent for a while.

“But the Calais meeting turned out all to the good,” Mary concluded, “because Kit knows about Matthew now, and he knows that Matthew is willing to go through the awfulness of a divorce scandal. He was actually quite reasonable about that part; it seems that he’s quite willing to bring suit. Well, it’d be better for him too. He could marry someone younger.”