Chapter 5
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Mr John Smith truly had not intended to stay at Chiswick House for the duration of the month. His early plans had been to stay for a few days, to catch up with his old friend and discuss a bit of business. However, since his first night there – the ball, the people, the dance – proceeded rather well, he decided that, if Mr Mott was so obliging – which he was – he would like to stay for a bit longer. A bit longer turned into a fortnight, and a fortnight turned into a month. And what a month it had been.
The picturesque surroundings, fields of verdant green and hedgerows filled with berries and birds' nests – all of this he admired greatly, after so long spent in London. It really was a charming area, with pleasant, friendly residents more than willing to converse with him wherever he went. In fact, he was surprised at how much he was being spoken to, particularly by the middle-aged women who seemed to only speak of their daughters for some reason unbeknownst to him; he was mostly used to being anonymous, conducting his business with an air of privacy that one did not acquire in such a small village, where gossip was rife and everyone knew each other well.
He could only hope that such gossip would not reveal to his new acquaintances the facets of his life which he had always tried to run from. Of course, to anyone outside of Leadworth the village held little importance, thus he felt his secrets were quite safe from revelation. No one except Mr Mott had heard of him prior to his visit, as far as he was aware; and even if Mr Mott were partial to gossip himself, which he was not, he would not be able to reveal anything startling. The two men had not seen each other for some time; he did not know any of the more recent past events in Mr Smith's life. This was how it should be, and Mr Smith would see that this continued, whatever the cost.
The House itself was a splendid place in which to reside. There were plenty of rooms to explore, and wherever he found himself he could hear laughter somewhere in the home; the sound comforted him. He had been so alone for so long, after all, and had almost forgotten what happiness sounded like.
The library was a particular favourite room of his. The sheer amount of books in there made him tingle with delight when he first stepped inside. He and Mr Mott could sit in there for hours, discussing and debating and reading. There was a piano forte in the corner of the room, which bemused him at first – weren't libraries supposed to be a place of quiet contemplation? Yet he grew accustomed to Miss Noble practicing now and then, and found it aided him in his reflection.
What entranced him most about this room, though, were two things, equal in their charm. One of these things was that sometimes, he would enter the library and find someone else in there; someone other than Mr Mott or Miss Noble. Sitting at that piano forte, her brow furrowed in frustration as she attempted to play, her fingers stumbling over the keys – sometimes melodious, sometimes hopeless. Whether adept at playing or not, Miss Tyler was a vision to behold, and numerous times he would find himself standing by the door, utterly unwilling to enter fully and announce his presence, listening and watching her try to grasp the right formulation of notes to recreate a musical masterpiece.
At one point or another, whether after seconds or minutes of him standing by the door, she would sigh and glance away from the piano, her gaze falling on him. And he would stutter a hello and quickly walk into the room, mumbling about this book or that in the hope she would not realise that he simply stood and looked at her for some time.
The other thing that entranced him about the room was the doorway to the garden. During his stay thus far the sun had been shining nearly every day, and though there had been sporadic bursts of rain, the drops had been light and the air remained warm. The grasses were a rich green, the flowers in complete bloom, and he liked how the doors from the library to the garden were near-constantly opened outwards to allow the scent of early summer to seep in, interspersing with the smell of old books and dusty shelves.
He also enjoyed the view the opened doors gave him from his comfortable position in an old armchair. When he was alone in the library, he often found himself laying the book he was currently reading on his lap in favour of looking out into the gardens and watching Miss Tyler play with Bessie the dog, or, as of late, the younger girls and boys from the village whom she had befriended; they were, he noticed, the very same poor and hungry children he had seen just before his arrival in the village, traipsing to and from the local mill a few miles away.
He suspected Miss Tyler had seen such a sight herself one day, and that she had spoken with the kind-hearted Mr Mott to ask his permission to welcome them into the gardens when they were able. Now, once or twice a week they flocked to her in boundless enthusiasm, forgoing the idea of rest from their work in favour of behaving as children should, carefree and so alive. He admired how she was able to openly exude such compassion and affection for these children who lived a life so very different from her own.
He thought that perhaps, were Miss Tyler to have a fortune to call hers rather than simply a dependence upon Mr Mott's kindness to secure her place here, she would be the sort of person to put such finances to good use, and set up a school or charity of some kind to provide for these children who had no alternative choice but to work. And he wished, for perhaps the first time, that he really did have the money everyone presumed he had, so that he could have given her the means in which to do what he honestly suspected she wanted to do.
Over the course of the last month, he liked to think that he had come to know Miss Tyler reasonably well. Of course, she would still astound him every day with some witty remark or another, but when it came to her fundamental traits and opinions, he thought he was quite proficient at reading the young woman, even after so short a time since meeting her. The proportions of his day were unequally divided, and it seemed that the most significant elements contained the company of Miss Tyler. He would eat with everyone at breakfast at 8 o'clock; yet he and Miss Tyler would meet by the cherry tree in the garden every day before breakfast to go for a brisk morning stroll. He would spend the period between breakfast and noon either in the library – alone or accompanied by Mr Mott – or in the village, acclimating himself to this lifestyle by becoming more sociable than ever before, getting to know the local residents and shops.
By lunchtime the household usually reconvened to dine together, and he would sit across from Miss Tyler, informing her of his increasing local knowledge and asking her for her opinion on those he had met. Around them, as lunch concluded, their company at the table would depart - except her mother, who rather persistently granted them with her presence. He supposed that was propriety and all, and he couldn't very well ask her to go elsewhere. He had to accept that, apart from during their morning walks which he was quite sure no one knew of, Miss Tyler and himself would not be sufficiently able to conduct a conversation that would not be overheard by one chaperone or another.
He was not certain what would become of his growing friendship with Miss Tyler. He knew that at some point he ought to leave Chiswick House for good, and return to London. However, her mother's continuous repetitions that Miss Tyler ought to start making more of an effort to make herself known amongst prospective husbands made him rather reluctant to leave.
It was quite clear that Mrs Tyler did not view him as one of these prospective husbands for her daughter. He was not sure why – he was no older than another of her suitors, so it could not be the age gap that rendered him an inappropriate choice. He was, for all intents and purposes, apparently a man of good reputation and wealth, however misguided the perception. And most of all it was quite apparent to all within Chiswick House – with the possible exception of Miss Tyler herself – that he was slightly smitten with the young woman. It appeared that despite all these redeemable features that Mrs Tyler thought him to possess, she still did not fully like him, or think him good enough.
Still, this was perhaps just as well. He had to remind himself that he was not the settling down kind, nor did he see himself living in Leadworth indefinitely for the amount of time it would take to properly woo Miss Tyler. He was also, of course, utterly unworthy of her, and it would do him well to distance himself from her in light of this fact.
Yet every day she would glance at him with her twinkling eyes and wide, joyful smile, and render him oblivious to the multitude of reasons why, instead of smiling right back, what he should really be doing is running far, far away.