Meg Alexander - The Passionate Friends

Judith made an unsuccessful attempt to hide her amusement. The animosity was mutual.

“There now, we have made our dear Judith smile at last! Believe me, my love, your friends will always be welcome at our home.”

Judith gave him a grateful look. Perhaps he would be kind. It was fortunate that she could not read his mind. The Reverend Truscott knew an enemy when he met one, and Prudence, Lady Wentworth, had left him in no doubt of her own opinion.

He’d seen her look of disgust as he moved about among his congregation, fawning on the women, and flattering the men. She had surprised him once, when he’d cornered one of his young parishioners beside the vestry. He’d gone too far on that occasion, and the girl was looking distressed.

Her ladyship had not addressed him, but her dagger-glance was enough to persuade him to hurry away, leaving the girl to rearrange her bodice as best she could.

Mrs Peregrine was quite another matter. She was a beauty, that one, and he’d sensed the fire beneath the Madonna-like appearance. She hated and despised him. That much was clear. He could not mistake the expression in her huge, dark eyes, but her dislike only served to whet his appetite. He’d conquered such women before, with his talk of love and salvation. It would be a pleasure to add her to his list of victims.

Looking up, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and felt his usual sense of satisfaction. His looks were the only thing for which he had to thank his actress mother and his unknown father.

Was he growing too gaunt? He thought not. His tall, spare figure and the dark head with the deep-set eyes and narrow jaw had just a touch of the fanatic. It was no bad thing. A certain air of the vulpine had served him well in his chosen profession. Who could resist him when he thundered forth his message from the pulpit?

He sensed that Judith was watching him.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he said easily. “I should not have come to you looking as I do. My duties with parishioners have kept me out all day. You must think me sadly dishevelled, but I could not resist the temptation to call upon you.”

“Judith thinks nothing of the kind,” Mrs Aveton interposed. “It is good of you to call again, when this foolish girl was not here to greet you earlier in the day.”

“Perhaps she believes that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” the preacher chuckled. With many protestations of devotion he took his leave of them.

“You had best get on with the invitations, Judith. There is little time to spare before your marriage, and I suppose we must do something about your trousseau. Tomorrow we had best go into Bond Street.”

Judith nodded her agreement.

However, on the following day, her stepmother lost all patience with her lack of interest in the garments offered for her inspection.

“Do pay attention!” she cried sharply. “Nothing will make you into a beauty, but you owe it to your husband to appear respectable.”

“Miss has a perfect figure,” the modiste encouraged. “She would look well in any of these wedding gowns.”

“Hold your tongue!” Mrs Aveton glared at her. Her own daughters were both short and dumpy. “I will decide upon a suitable garment.” She settled upon a dull lavender which did nothing for Judith’s colouring.

“This will do! And now I have the headache, thanks to your stupidity. The rest of your things you may choose for yourself whenever you wish. I have no time to accompany you again.”

Judith said nothing, though she felt relieved. The excuse to complete her shopping alone would get her out of the house, and away from the constant carping and criticism. She must take her maid, of course, but the girl was her only friend within the household, and she understood her quiet mistress well.

This fact had not escaped Mrs Averton’s notice. She had already spoken to the Reverend Truscott on the subject.

On the following day she confronted Judith.

“You are grown too familiar with that girl,” she said. “You had best make it clear that she should be looking for another position after you are married. Your husband will not care to find you being friendly with a servant.”

“I had hoped to take her with me. She is the daughter of my father’s housekeeper, and I’ve known her all my life.”

“Your father has been dead these many years. I should have dismissed her long ago.”

A lump came into Judith’s throat, but she did not argue further. Her husband-to-be might view the girl more kindly.

Mrs Aveton glanced through the window. “It may be coming on to rain,” she said. “I shall need the carriage myself this morning. You may walk to Bond Street. There is plenty of shelter on the way.”

Judith didn’t care if it poured. She could use a shower as an excuse to stay out for as long as possible. She left the house as quickly as possible, and walked along the street with Bessie beside her.

“Miss Judith, it’s spitting already. You’ll get drenched. Must you go out today?”

“I think so, Bessie. Have you got the list?”

“It’s in my pocket, miss, but it’s coming on heavier than ever. Won’t you step into this doorway?”

The wind was already sweeping the rain into their faces, and both girls ran for shelter. Half-blinded by the shower, Judith did not notice the hackney carriage until it stopped beside them. Then a strong hand gripped her elbow.

“Get in!” Dan said. “I want to talk to you.”

Judith was too startled to do other than obey him. It was only when she was seated in a corner of the carriage that she realised the folly of her action.

She glanced up, a protest ready on her lips, but Dan was smiling at Bessie.

“I hope I see you well,” he said kindly. “It’s Bessie, isn’t it? Do you remember me?”

“You haven’t changed, Mr Dan. I’d know you anywhere.”

He grinned at that. “Once seen, never forgotten? It’s my carroty top that gives me away.”

“Dan, please! I’m sorry, but we have so much to do this morning. I am to go to Bond Street. Bessie has a list…” Judith felt that she was babbling inanities. What did her shopping matter?

“Then Bessie can do your shopping for you. Your credit is good, I take it? She may order your things to be delivered…”

“No, she can’t! I mean, that would not do at all. I am to choose…at least…” Her voice tailed away.

“Bessie, will you do this for us? I must speak to your mistress.”

“No, you must not! Bessie, I forbid you…”

Bessie took not the slightest notice of her pleas. She was beaming at Dan, who had always been a favourite with her.

“I’ll be happy to do it, Mr Dan.”

“Then we’ll pick you up on the corner of Piccadilly. Shall we say in two hours’ time?”

“Dan, I can’t! Please set us down. We shall be missed, and then there will be trouble.”

“Nonsense! Prudence informs me that shopping takes an age. Besides, I can’t wait outside your door indefinitely, hoping to catch you on your own.”

“We might have met again in Mount Street,” she protested.

Dan gave her a quizzical look. “Yesterday I had the impression that you didn’t plan to visit your friends for some little time.”

They had reached Bond Street, and he rapped on the roof of the carriage to stop the driver. Bessie sprang down, but when Judith tried to follow her he barred the way.

“Hear me out!” he begged. “It is little enough to ask of you.”

Sensing his determination, Judith sank back into the corner. She had no wish to create a scene in public, and if he followed them someone of her acquaintance might see them together, and draw the wrong conclusions.

“This is folly!” she told him quietly. “You should not have sought me out.”