A Changing Land(19)
‘A fine style of a man, Mrs Gordon,’ Mrs Webb observed. ‘He’s been employed down south on a highly regarded property for some fifteen years. They say he fell afoul of the owner.’ Hilda leant conspiratorially towards Claire. ‘There is talk of a liaison with no other than Mrs Henry Constable.’
‘No,’ Claire whispered. ‘How impossibly salacious.’ And not at all surprising, Claire decided, as both she and Mrs Webb lifted their fans and under cover of much fluttering stared blatantly at the new arrival. ‘Mrs Henry Constable must be –’
‘Forty-five in the shade my dear, with five children. Oh he is a fine form of a man,’ Hilda said breathily.
Claire couldn’t disagree. Jacob Wetherly was tall and wore his clothes well. Dark-haired and straight-backed with a becoming dark tan to his skin, his was a welcome addition to their gathering.
‘There is also the whisper of an estate in England.’ Mrs Webb tapped Claire on the forearm, ‘although there is disagreement as to his actual worth. It would seem Mr Gordon has taken to him.’
It was true, Claire observed, fascinated as Mr Webb provided introductions. Hamish led the man aside, gesturing with his hands animatedly. Claire had witnessed such persuasion before although at the moment she was unsure as to the nature of this particular exchange. Jacob Wetherly’s expression alternated from surprise to interest to momentary quiet. Finally the two men shook hands. Claire lowered her fan. Mr Wetherly was looking directly at her. She averted her eyes, for once grateful of Henrietta and Jane’s prattling and her curved brim hat. Claire busied herself with the fried fish Mrs Ovendale helpfully suggested was for those with a tendency towards overheating.
‘They are coming over to join us,’ Mrs Webb announced with an excited tremble to her voice.
Claire dabbed at her greasy lips with a white linen napkin. Hamish and Mr Wetherly were indeed walking towards their shady retreat, with Reginald following.
‘Sit up straight,’ Hilda advised her daughters. ‘Don’t say anything silly,’ she challenged Jane. ‘Remember you are both unmarried and it is a disappointment to me,’ she patted Henrietta’s arm, ‘but it is a disappointment that could be rectified with effort.’ Henrietta plastered on a serene smile. Jane brushed crumbs from her bunched skirt.
Jacob Wetherly declared himself honoured to be included at their picnic and commented on the becoming nature of Mrs Webb’s daughters, who in turn dropped their mouths open so that pink tongues and white teeth became the extent of his remembrances of them. It was only after pleasantries were exchanged that Claire enquired as to his visit to Wangallon Town.
‘New and I might add unforeseen prospects,’ he answered mysteriously. His eyes were grey, made more intriguing by a deep scar etched on his forehead and an aquiline nose a debutante would die for. Claire was positive a wink escaped in her direction, but unsure as to whether this was a premeditated manoeuvre or some undiagnosed tick she took refuge behind her fan. She could not, however, escape the brushing of his lips across her hand, nor the positively languorous way in which he released his grip. It was proving to be an entertaining afternoon, she decided.
‘And what are your plans for Christmas, Mrs Gordon?’ Mrs Webb enquired when the men strode away to another group of picnickers and their foursome had calmed themselves sufficiently enough to accept Jane’s offer of slices of apple pie. Claire was pleased to find herself discussing her thoughts of a large scrub turkey with roasted vegetables.
‘Yes, and mutton,’ Mrs Webb added. ‘We can look forward to mutton chops for breakfast, roasts for dinner and cold cuts for tea before it is salted, cured and placed in the meat safe. Oh, when do you think we will have one of those glorious ice chests such as the city folk enjoy? Now that is something the shopkeeper should be investing in, not timber.’
‘We could have ices, Mama,’ Henrietta suggested.
‘Oh yes, with fresh lemon cordial.’ Jane sprayed her sister with morsels of apple and pastry.
Henrietta brushed at her blouse. ‘You are not fit for polite society.’
Despite her best intentions Claire found herself glancing in Jacob Wetherly’s direction, before drifting off as Mrs Webb began an extended explanation on the digestive benefits of stuffing and gravy.
Reclining on her side, Claire was beginning to doze in the afternoon sun when a disturbance awakened her.
‘Oh, what has happened?’ Mrs Webb enquired, reaching for her smelling salts. Henrietta perched on her knees in anticipation. ‘Well go on, Jane,’ Mrs Webb pointed her sharply closed fan in the direction of the kerfuffle as Jane ran off to investigate. ‘Come back instantly once you have ascertained the drama of the event.’