Chapter 6
-x-
Dinner at Chiswick House was always such a charade of great consequence. Mr John Smith did not quite understand why; dinner was food and food was necessary. All the dressing up and formalities of the affair were not necessary. Still, he was a guest in his friend's home and he acted accordingly.
One particular evening, nearly six weeks after his first evening in Leadworth, Miss Tyler did not attend dinner. This was unusual, and he enquired after her health.
"Mrs Tyler, may I ask the reason for Miss Tyler's absence? Is she unwell?"
Mrs Tyler shook her head slightly. "She is not gravely ill, do not worry."
"Then where is she?" he persisted.
"She is not feeling herself. But it is nothing serious, Mr Smith."
His brow furrowed worriedly in spite of Mrs Tyler's reassurances. Dinner was presented and conversation commenced around him, but Mr Smith did not speak. Instead of eating, he pushed the food about his plate with his fork. He did not know why he felt so unsettled – perhaps it was because he had not seen Miss Tyler during the day, either.
At the beginning of the day, after waiting patiently for a little while, he had gone on his morning stroll without her. He had looked for her after returning from his unaccompanied walk, but his search was unsuccessful and he thus presumed she was visiting a friend. After all, she did, on occasion, forget to tell him when she was not going to be at the House. Now he wondered if she had simply been upstairs, feeling out of sorts, all this time.
"Everything all right, Mr Smith?" asked Mr Mott.
He looked at his friend and tried to smile. "Yes, fine, thank you."
"Something wrong with the food?" asked Mrs Noble in a prickly fashion.
"Not like you not to eat," remarked Miss Noble, fixing him with a knowing look. He wondered how it was that she could see through his futile attempts at continuing with dinner unworried about Miss Tyler.
"I'm just...not feeling very hungry," he mumbled. He stood up abruptly. "Please – forgive me my rudeness, but may I be excused?"
Mr Mott nodded amiably. "Of course, John!"
Miss Noble raised an eyebrow, hiding her smirk with her napkin.
Mrs Tyler watched Mr Smith suspiciously as he started to move out of the room. "Where are you off to, then?"
"A walk," he declared. "I need some fresh air." This met with her approval, it seemed, for she nodded agreeably, and he was free.
Once Mr Smith left the room, however, he did not make his way outside. Instead, he headed for the staircase.
When he reached the upper corridor, he pretended to walk towards his room, for propriety's sake; he'd passed a couple of maids, and it would do him no good to have them circulate inappropriate gossip. He waited until they retreated downstairs, and then proceeded to knock on what he knew to be Miss Tyler's door.
"Mother, I've told you, I shall not be attending dinner," snapped Miss Tyler from inside.
Mr Smith frowned, cleared his throat slightly, and murmured just loud enough for her to hear, "I highly resent being mistaken for your mother, Miss Tyler."
He heard her small gasp of surprise, then silence. He wondered if he had made a grave mistake in taking this liberty of coming to her room. However, within moments, she was easing open her door.
"Mr Smith," she greeted in confusion. "What are you doing?"
"I..." he trailed off hopelessly, then sighed and admitted, "I was worried. You weren't at dinner – or luncheon or breakfast, for that matter - and your mother said you were ill."
"Did she?" Miss Tyler muttered, rolling her eyes. She tugged him into her room by his arm and closed the door, in case another member of the household saw him.
"Yes." He frowned, and looked her over. She was wearing a simple pale blue dress and looked as radiant as ever. "You do not look ill. Are you ill?"
She sighed, and sat down on the end of her bed. Mr Smith swallowed hard and tried not to look at her or the object she was seated upon, instead fixing his gaze on the floor.
"No, I am not ill." She seemed to remember something, then. "Oh! I'm sorry I didn't meet you for our walk today, John," she said softly.
He smiled at the wooden flooring. "You don't have to apologise. Perhaps you had a better offer?" he teased lightly.
"No, no," she giggled. "Quite the contrary. Mother wanted me to meet someone. I refused. She and I...we had a little bit of a...heated discussion, and then I...well, I..."
"Decided to brood up here all by yourself?" he prompted, finally meeting her eyes.
She flushed. "I acted childishly, I concede. But...she is so very persistent and – well, you know me, John; I can outdo her in the stubbornness stakes any day."
"That is true," he chuckled. "Who was it she wanted you to meet, anyway? Not another dreadful aunt like last week?"
Miss Tyler shuddered at the memory of having to meet some distant relative several days ago; Aunt Margaret had been the sort of middle-aged woman who, because she herself was unhappy, decided to drag everyone else down to her level of misery too. She also had a bit of a moustache, which Mr Smith pointed out to Miss Tyler at dinner on the evening of her aunt's visit in an effort to cheer her up. He liked making Miss Tyler laugh; it had become an excellent and fulfilling past-time for him.
"No, not another aunt," she murmured. She glanced away briefly and added, even more quietly, "It was a man."
"A...man?" he said, a lump coming to his throat.
"Yes," she affirmed, meeting his eye steadily.
"I take it by 'man' you mean a...a potential suitor?"
"Yes." There was a pause, before Miss Tyler hurried to fill it, "You know how Mother is about these things. Wants to marry me off as soon as possible to make sure I am...secured, or some such."
Mr Smith took a slow step towards her. "And you refused?"
"I did," Miss Tyler nodded. She stood up, uncomfortable remaining seated on her bed with Mr Smith so close.
"Why did you refuse?" he asked curiously.
"I...I don't think it's right," Miss Tyler answered, stumbling only a little over her words. "Being served up a gentleman and expected to just accept him. Like some sort of course at dinner."
Mr Smith quirked an eyebrow. "Just because the gravy is rich and the meal presentable, doesn't mean you wouldn't like to have a different choice."
"Exactly!" Miss Tyler laughed. He took another step closer to her and her laughter quieted. "Exactly..." she repeated softly.
"Miss Tyler..."
"John?" she replied, biting her lip nervously.
He stared down at her, and the seconds they spent simply standing there close together felt like they dragged on for minutes, hours. "Rose," he said hoarsely. Then he blinked and cleared his throat. "I – I shouldn't – well, that is, I should...really, I ought to..." He gestured at her door. "Go."
"Yes," she replied breathlessly. "It is rather...improper...for you to be in my bedroom."
"You let me in," he pointed out, unwilling to take the entirety of the responsibility.
"You knocked on my door," she countered.
"That is true," he replied, with a smile. "I apologise for my appalling conduct. You see, the thing is..." He glanced at the floor again. "The thing is, I have something I need to tell you."
"You do?"
"Yes. I was going to tell you this morning, during our walk, or perhaps at dinner tonight, but..."
"Then tell me now," she urged.
"I have enjoyed the last six weeks here immensely," he began, his throat dry. He met her gaze once more. "You – I feel very privileged to have spent such time in your company. We have not known each other long, but I hope you are aware that your friendship, it...means a lot to me."
Her brow crinkled in confusion. "Well, thank you, John," she replied, unsure of where this was going. "You too."
He tugged on his ear awkwardly. "You see, I was only intending to stay a few days but then those few days turned into a month and a half and...and now I have a problem."
"You do?"
"Yes. I...am finding myself rather partial to you – I mean, your home, these, er, grounds and the countryside and, well, Leadworth really is a charming little place and the residents are mostly very friendly and Mr Mott and his granddaughter in particular have made my stay here very pleasant indeed. The problem is that I do not want to leave."
She let out an anxious chuckle. "Then...don't," she suggested simply.
"But I am afraid I must," he whispered regretfully.
"May I...may I ask why?"
Mr Smith scratched the back of his neck. "There are some business matters I have been neglecting in London. I received notification via a letter yesterday that I am to depart to contend with such matters very soon."
"Oh," she mumbled, biting her lip. "When?"
Mr Smith winced. "Tomorrow."
"Oh! Well, that is...indeed, very soon."
"I am sorry to have to leave," he reiterated.
"Yes."
"But I do have to go, it is...it is necessary."
"I understand," she nodded calmly.
"I am reasonably sure Mr Mott will invite me to stay here again, at some point, but I am not certain how soon I will be able to travel back. These...business matters can often take a substantial amount of time."
"I see."
"Do not think me unkind, for leaving so abruptly," he murmured.
Miss Tyler giggled. "Don't be silly. If you have to go, you have to go. I don't condemn you for that," she smiled warmly. Then she arched an eyebrow and commented, "Oh, to be a man and have such responsibilities...I suppose I'll have to content myself with sewing and hopeless attempts at the piano while you are away."
He chuckled and nodded. "Yes, quite." He paused, and reached his hand forwards for a moment before drawing back, hesitant. "I..." he began, then altered his statement, "Perhaps I will find your music skills much improved upon my return."
"Perhaps," she laughed. "But I wouldn't get your hopes up."
Mr Smith met her eyes steadily. "Keep laughing like that, Rose. I shall wish to hear it when I come back." His hand reached out again, and this time he was more confident, taking her hand in his. He lifted it to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to it. "Goodnight - "
"What time are you leaving in the morning?" she interrupted him.
"Oh, early, I should think. Which is why it is best we say goodbye now, you see."
"Have you told Mr Mott yet? And Miss Noble and everyone else?"
"No, not yet, but I'll converse with Wilfred shortly," he assured her.
"Bessie shall be sad to see you go," Miss Tyler commented next, smoothing down her dress absently when he released her hand. "She's grown quite fond of you."
Mr Smith nodded. "She's a charming little dog. You have trained her well."
"Thank you." There was a quiet interlude of speech for a moment, wherein they simply looked at each other. "Mr Smith - " Miss Tyler began, just as Mr Smith started, "Rose - "
They laughed gently and Mr Smith motioned for her to speak first.
"John," she tried again, and then floundered for a moment before continuing, "Do you think you shall be able to write to the House, while you are away?"
"Oh. Um...well, you see, I shall be travelling around a lot; I'm not sure if I'll have time."
"Oh. Right. Well, no matter," she assured him, smiling brightly.
He swallowed hard. "Rose...I – um, that is, I – well. I'll miss...Leadworth. You. I'll miss you."
Miss Tyler blushed and looked down. "I'll miss you too, John."
"Good," he smiled shyly, and then cleared his throat. "Right – I'd better go. Hopefully it shan't be too long before I'll see you again."
Miss Tyler met his gaze once more. "Goodbye, Mr Smith."
He nodded. "Goodbye, Miss Tyler." He gave her another brief, shy smile, then turned and walked out of her room.
Miss Tyler opened her mouth to call after him once more, but decided against it. She watched him close the door behind him and sank down onto her bed, heaving a regretful sigh. If only she had not been so immature today; she'd missed her last walk, breakfast, luncheon and dinner with Mr Smith without even realising it! She could only hope that her friend would return as he promised he would. Her astute mind, however, told her that London was full of pretty things, distracting things, and a part of her was afraid that Leadworth and Miss Tyler herself would soon be just a distant memory for the important Mr Smith.