VI
The air in the old hall still hummed with the aftermath of Captain Yule’s departure when Cora slipped back in, cheeks pink from the walk from the station, to find Mrs. Gracedew waiting by the fireplace like a patient conspirator. “Has he been breaking––?” Cora asked in horror, counting on the Captain having left for good.
Mrs. Gracedew laughed, tapping her chest as if the memory of the scene he’d made upstairs was a fond secret. “Yes, we’ve had a scene! He went up to your father.” Cora’s stomach dropped—her father was out, he’d slipped down the back stairs to avoid the Captain. She blurted as much, and Mrs. Gracedew shrugged, reaching for her shawl. “Then he can join you here. I’m going.”
Cora’s heart leapt; she’d only just come back, risking another interruption, hoping to resume their conversation. “Just when I’ve come back to you—at the risk of again interrupting, though I really hoped he had gone, your conversation with Captain Yule?”
Mrs. Gracedew dropped the conversational ball. “I’ve nothing to say to Captain Yule.”
“You had a good deal to say a few minutes ago!”
“Well, I’ve said it, and it’s over. I’ve nothing more to say at all.” Her tone was final, but her habit of solicitude kicked in before she could leave. “What has become of my delightful ‘party’?”
“They’ve been dismissed through the grounds by the other door. But they mentioned a fresh lot of buyers coming.” Cora watched her friend’s face light up, the revival of interest almost yearning. “Why, what times you have! You must take the fresh lot—since the house is now practically yours!”
“Mine?” Cora looked blank.
“Why, if you’re going to marry Captain Yule.”
Cora coloured to the eyes. “I’m not going to marry Captain Yule!”
Mrs. Gracedew paled. “Why on earth did you tell me ten minutes ago that you were?”
“I told you nothing of the sort. I only told you he had been ordered to me!” Cora was almost indignant.
Mrs. Gracedew laughed until she could breathe again. “Like a dose of medicine or a course of baths?”
“As a remedy for the single life. Oh, I’ve mastered the matter now! But I won’t take him!”
“Ah, then, why didn’t you let me know?”
“I was on the point of it when he came in and interrupted us. It’s just to let you know I’m here now. I won’t jump at him, if that’s what you assumed.”
Mrs. Gracedew’s face warmed with sudden tenderness; she’d misread the situation entirely, assuming Cora was as eager for the match as her father. “You prefer the single life, then?”
“No—but I don’t prefer him!” Cora’s answer was crisp, no trace of doubt.
Her light was almost blinding for a moment, and Mrs. Gracedew had to squint to see the secret she was hiding. “You prefer someone else?”
Cora’s promptness dropped at once. The plain question made her flinch; she turned away, until Mrs. Gracedew’s encouraging hand drew the whole story out in a soft, clear torrent. She’d parted from Mrs. Gracedew at the station, and the man she loved had turned up by chance on his way back from three days away. They’d taken a quiet walk, buying Cora time to get home before her father, who still had no idea she loved Hall Pegg, the son of the richest cotton mill owner in Bellborough, Granny’s godson, who’d inherit his father’s immense business and was as good a match as her father could ever want. “I really don’t know what I want,” she confessed. “I think I just want kindness.”
“What do you mean by kindness?”
“Help.” Cora’s answer was simple, until she added, softer: “I mean that I love him.”
Mrs. Gracedew’s eyebrows shot up. “And does he love you?”
“Ask him.” Cora’s gaze drifted past her, toward the park gate, where Hall Pegg waited in the old grotto halfway down the path, patient as a stone. “He’s waiting for me now.”
Mrs. Gracedew’s answer was firm, no room for argument. “No. I won’t see him. If you want help, I’ll see your father first.”
Cora nearly sobbed with relief, hugging her tight. “You dear, delicious lady! He’s intensely sympathetic, nothing like Captain Yule, who doesn’t believe in me at all. Papa has seen him, but we’ve been so scared papa would hate it we’ve had to be careful. I wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t nice.”
“A man’s always nice if you will love him!” Mrs. Gracedew laughed.
“He’s nicer still if he will love you!” Cora shot back.
Mrs. Gracedew’s smile faded. “Are you sure this gentleman does love you?”
“As sure as that the other one doesn’t.”
“Ah, but the other one doesn’t know you.”
“Yes, thank goodness—and never shall!”
“What’s the matter, then? Your father’s objection to the gentleman in the grotto?”
Cora faltered. “His name. Hall Pegg. It sounds like a hat-rack!”
Mrs. Gracedew winced, then recovered. “Only his name?”
“Not enough—that’s the trouble! Papa has five names, he thinks that’s fine. Captain Yule has six, all fancy sounding. ‘Marmaduke Clement’ and the rest.”
Mrs. Gracedew waved a hand, already solving the problem in her head. “That’ll do for yours, too. Mrs. Hall Pegg?” She tried the name aloud, and it fell a little flat in the grand, echoing hall, but she waved the awkwardness away with a smile. “It won’t make you a bit less charming.”
“Only for papa,” Cora sighed.
“Never for me!” Mrs. Gracedew soothed. She promised, with quiet certainty, to talk to Cora’s father that very day, to make him accept the match, make him say he approved out loud. Cora’s eyes squeezed shut at the dream of it, before Mrs. Gracedew held up a finger, her tone turning playful. “But before I do that, I want something from you. If Captain Yule proposes to you, you will unconditionally refuse him. Promise me.”
“With my dying breath!”
“Don’t sign anything. Just kiss me.”
They sealed the compact with a quick, tight kiss, and Cora was out the front door a minute later, her skirts swishing as she ran for the grotto. Mrs. Gracedew was left alone, smiling as she listened to the heavy door slam shut. “Well,” she sighed, her eyes soft, “I like funny old grottos.” Her quiet moment of amusement didn’t last. A minute later, the formidable shadow of Mr. Prodmore darkened the doorway, his face set like stone.
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