APOLOGIES TO TROLLOPE

By Jackie Penticost April 2020

A match between Miss Anne Fortescue and Mr John Foster was deemed by both, even on slight acquaintance, to be highly desirable.   She was eventually to have £1200 a year in her own right from a wealthy aunt.  He was a well-regarded curate, and certainly with prospects. Moreover, his well-turned calf and amiable manner caused much fluttering of fans and hearts in the local assembly rooms.  

It was settled in the Long Yew Walk of Fortescue Manor, with much billing and cooing and cradling of tiny hands to be kissed and fondled.  Both realized that this was a well-balanced partnership.  

And yet, there was a fly in the ointment.   Miss Anne was the second daughter and had only been ‘out’ for a year.   Her older sister Prudence was in her third season and lacked any suitor,  in spite of her inheritance.  A long nose,  gimlet eyes  and a sharp tongue weighed heavily against her.   Society dictated that the eldest girl should be betrothed first, and so Anne’s  engagement must remain a secret.

That young lady came in from the garden looking radiant and flushed. Mr Foster had arrived and departed by the wicket gate, against all propriety.  The ladies of the house were dreadfully unaware of the meeting, and the billing and the cooing.

‘Are you having trouble with your stays, my dear?  Your breathing is quite laboured, and your face is red’. Prudence was disinclined to use adjectives such as ‘rosy’ or ‘glowing’. 

‘Oh, the day is quite warm, and I have been walking. Do you know that Jeavons has cut back the honeysuckle against all advice from Mama?   She will be quite out of temper with him, I know’  

The elder sister put down her embroidery.  Sharp as she was, she had a keen sense for when others were dissembling.

‘My dear, it is the first time that I have known you to take notice of honeysuckle.    Perhaps it is a sign of maturity, or perhaps something else?’

Anne knew that the wicket gate led onto the end of the village street, and unless Mr Foster had taken care, he might have been spotted.   At any moment, cards might be presented at the front door, and all would be revealed to Prudence.

‘Oh no, I was hoping to make a small bouquet for the hall.  Have you heard that the Sussex regiment are soon to be billeted for the summer on the Downs?’

Anne knew that Prudence believed her to be incorrigible when faced with a red coat and a smart set of whiskers, but that was in her pre-Foster days.  The sensible girl was already mentally changing course to be a demure wife of a husband with a career path to canon, or even dean at Chichester. 

Prudence looked down her long nose.

‘You are too flighty, too gossamer, to settle to anything. And should anyone in the Regiment call on you, he will be shown the door.   How I wish you would give up your giddy ways’

Anne thought that giddiness and gossamer would camouflage her very well. She smiled to herself and went upstairs with a light step.  Prudence would find a solid baronet in the next few months, and she could wait.