Nancy rounded upon the boy with her hand raised, and found her wrist firmly seized by Sir Walter Temple ton.
“That will do, my girl,” he said in a voice somewhat stronger than previous. “Pray be so good as to present the lady's card to Mrs. Seagrave.”
The maid no doubt intended a stinging rebuke, but Sir Walter had released her and was already steering the two boys firmly towards the kitchen, muttering in quiet tones about the Sally Port, and the necessity of fetching a quantity of paper from the nursery. I proffered the offending card, and grudgingly, the maid took it.
“If your mistress is otherwise engaged this morning, I shall wait for her reply.”
An ejaculation from the parlour doorway must serve as answer enough.
“Miss Austen! You are come again to cheer my solitude!” Louisa Seagrave cried. “Pray do not give the slightest attention to that ill-bred slattern, but hasten to the fire. You must be perishing of cold. Do I understand the situation correctly? Are you only now disembarked from the Southampton hoy?”
I drew off my bonnet and gloves, handed them to Nancy—who crushed them under her arm with a snort of contempt—and crossed the hall. I am. My brother could not be absent from Portsmouth on such a day; and when I learned of his intention, I begged to join him. Do I disturb your peace unforgivably?”
“Not at all.” Her fingers, when she clasped my own, were chilled to the bone. The parlour fire could not be adequate. Her face was sallow, her breathing hectic, and her entire appearance one of the deepest suffering; but I could not judge her mad. “You know, then, where my husband is gone. You know that a few hours alone may decide it.”
“A few hours—and all the most active intelligence of his true friends, exercised upon his behalf,” I declared. “You must not sink, Mrs. Seagrave—you must not give way. Let us talk of books; let us dandle the baby—let us walk out into the cold, if we must! But I shall not allow you to sink!”
“You are very good,” she murmured, and swayed in the doorway. I caught her arm and helped her into the parlour beyond—it was a small room, rather dark, with a single round table placed in the center and two or three chairs arranged around it. I settled Mrs. Seagrave on the sopha crammed into the bow window, and turned to face the second lady standing silently near the hearth. The mistress of the magnificent carriage, I presumed.
“Pray forgive my weakness, Lady Templeton,” Louisa Seagrave murmured, “and allow me to introduce Miss Austen to your acquaintance.”
Her ladyship was an austere personage, thin and tall, with a magnificent carriage to her head and a pair of glowing dark eyes. I should judge her a quarter-century junior to her husband, and where the Baronet was all diffidence and kindly hesitation, she was all decision and contempt. Like Louisa Seagrave, Lady Templeton was dressed entirely in black, though of an elegance the Captain's wife should never achieve. She did not waste her smiles upon a woman only just disembarked from the Southampton hoy; it was unlikely we should meet again, and a baronet's wife must always be sparing in her notice. A stiff nod, which I returned with my usual courtesy, was all the acknowledgement I received.
“I suppose you are one of Mrs. Seagrave's naval connexions?” she enquired.
“I am fortunate enough to have two brothers presently serving His Majesty,” I replied.
“And their rank?”
“The elder is a post captain, the younger a master and commander.”
This intelligence effectively thwarted further attempts at conversation. Nothing less than an admiral, it seemed, would do for a Lady Templeton. But her business was hardly with me; I could be ignored as a flaw in the paintwork, or a bit of thread discarded upon a table.
Her ladyship pulled on her gloves and grasped her reticule. “I may not tarry any longer, Louisa. I have wasted for too much time as it is. You know what Luxford shall be in such an hour. I may only repeat that I am not in the habit of brooking refusal. I expect you to afford my arrangements the consideration they warrant, and to vouchsafe a reply to the inn by midnight. Sir Walter and I shall be forced to start for Kent no later than ten 'clock on the morrow. Pray attend to the hour. You were never a punctual child; I hope the years