Buffitt Letters

24

Buffitt Letters

My dearest Peg-Peg,

    It is the most extraordinary start, and you have my permission to bust your stays laughing! For I am positive, at Bullivant Hall, you must be wearing them. Sir Horace’s famous ‘Curran’ has taken Chelford Place for the rest of the summer after all! Tho’ it turns out he is not Curran at all: the surname is Corrant (pron. ‘currant’ like those poor wisps of bushes that George and Bertie have flattened with their dratted football). And Sir H., being a trifle deaf, missed the final T. According to himself he is a connexion of Lord Geddings. Oh, well, Sir Horace believes it, which is what matters, after all! Now, Peggums, until it be revealed whether he truly is a connexion of Lord G., and just what sort of a connexion it may be, you had best not breathe a word of this at B. Hall: he has fallen for our Alice! You never saw a man so struck! If he were not such a good-looking fellow I would have to say the expression on his face as he looks at her is little short of goopy! No, well, actually it is the exact same expression as old Mrs Binney’s ancient stripey tom has when he sits under her pear tree with the maw open, willing the birds to drop into it, but naturally I would not say so to any but you!

    He does seem a pleasant man—well, we knew that, Maria’s word alone would have been enough—and Alice, tho’ behaving with the utmost propriety, as I am sure you can imagine (!), actually seems to reciprocate! I swear I saw her blush t’other day as he handed her up into the trap behind Big White Spot. And it could not be because of the Name, for he was there when little Rosie chose it. Incidentally, Maria writes that she has learned a Rude Word, from where, poor Maria has no notion, and reliably came out with it in front of Cousin B. t’other day!

    Where was I? Alice and Sir H.’s C., of course, but in particular? Oh, yes: as to whether he truly be a decent man: I have to admit that judgement would be hasty. So of course Sir Horace has made one. We all knew he liked him when he was Curran and as he seems even keener now that he is revealed as Corrant, the conclusion must be either that he is a decent man or that he has completely pulled the wool over the poor old boy’s eyes! (Like the frightful Willo-Whatsisname in the book, Peg-Peg! But it is not the same case: if ever there was an epitome of Sense, it is our Alice!) I ventured to say to Sir H. in private, what on earth was he up here for in the first place? The answer being, the Corrants are connexions of old Lady Darley. As the whole county knows the old lady is dying I asked the obvious question, at which Sir H. turned purple and began to shout words like ‘most decent fellow what ever walked,’ also ‘piffle,’ ‘poppycock’ and ‘that hag of a d— Amelia Darley!’ Eventually calming down sufficiently to reveal that Curran had fancied the relaxed life of Monday Hall, away from his d— relations, and so Corrant decided to have more of it at Chelford Place. If that does not entirely make sense to you, I have to say you are not alone in that. Also, Nota Bene, the question of precisely why he was over our way in the first instance is not resolved!

    Possibly one may trust Alice’s judgement, and I admit the man seems all that is gentlemanly. He is certainly intelligent, and witty enough, in a conventional way. I suppose that is unfair: so many men are abysmally stupid, or boors, are they not? And he is neither of those. But in spite of his brains & his perfect manners, and the looks, which are not bad, if ordinary, and the figure, which is certainly all that one hopes a gentleman’s should be, but that they so often are not, I have to say it: What does Alice see in him?

    Sir Horace volunteered that the duke thing was not a hum, nor something dreamed up by you girls to trick poor old Aunt Portwinkle into letting Alice stay in London, and of course Sissy had writ some nonsense: something about his having a fall in the Park, was it? But it was all muddled up with the best way to train up little dogs, pink leading-reins and the success of your soi-disant salon. There was something from Brighton, too, but that was all muddled up with parasols and encomiums of Lady S., where I was hoping for an exact description of Stamforth Castle! Well, I decided that possibly some part of it was true and so I said to Alice: “What about the Duke of Chelford, my dear? And do not dare to say ‘What about him, Ma?’”—At least she is not calling me Mamma, tho’ mark my words, that will come.—To which she replied that she should not dream of saying any such thing, and that though she liked the Duke and thought him a very pleasant young man whom she could make happy in the event he did offer, she feared she could not truly care for him! As I live and breathe, Peg-Peg! Cool as a cucumber! So of course I screamed: “Alice Buffitt! You mean to say there is a duke?” And the cucumber returned: “Yes, Ma. I thought Aunt Sissy wrote you of it?”

    Well! Fortunately Corrant appears to like Sense. I have not dared to write a word to Aunt Portw. as yet, because if it should come to naught, or he is revealed as a Willo-Whatsisname, it will turn out to have been All My Blame. So if you write her, do not breathe a word. And Peg-Peg, do not promise the old hag anything, for an you do, or even write anything that looks like a promise, she will hold you to it! Likewise Cousin Honeywell: she has writ me yet again, begging for you, well, not begging, but ordering, but from her it is a beg! And I have to say it, there will be nothing from that direction, my dearest, because there are all those Honeywell descendants, and everything, down to the gold earrings she had off old Aunt Agatha Honeywell (and thereby hangs a tale or three thousand), has been prommised. Twice over in some cases.

    Well, that is our great news of the moment. I swear I have not seen Alice’s cheeks so red since the summer Maria knocked a fresh-poured jar of damson jam all over her foot, poor lamb! (Cold water, immediate, gallons of it, was the answer, Peg-Peg. Followed by butter applied to the sore spot, and to ignore the victim’s every common-sensical word on the subject of Waste of good butter!)

    Talking of feet, there are several schemes afoot here, e.g. Lilibet’s to learn to drive Sir Horace’s trap and rename Big White Spot (not inevitably in that order), your Pa’s to build a combined bridge-cum-ferry in miniature across the stream (possibly it will be an aqueduct-cum-ferry, but I merely offer you the essence of it), and Sir H.’s to persuade Corrant to take a ninety-nine year lease in perpetuity of Chelford P. And Maria has writ something about Ducks. Lance has added an addendum, or possibly a rider, about some American bird, but as it sounds neither Feasible nor Edible, I would ignore it, in yr. shoes, should he write of it to you.

    Alice tried to give me an incomprehensible message about carriages but as I said it was incomprehensible, she is writing herself. Do not expect the carriages to be yoked to an access of Sensibility!

    Take care of yourself, Peggums, and if you have had enough of these Bullivants, do for goodness’ sake tell them we are all struck down with the Plague and you must rush home immediate to

Your Loving Ma.

P.S. Ignore anything at all from George, in especial if contain the words “Horse”, “Shot-gun”, “Great Gun”, “Cricket ball”, or “Cucumber”.

P.P.S. the last of the vegetable kind, the Connection is with “Cricket ball”, not with Sense!!

Dear Peg,

    They are all run mad here. You are well out of it. Lilibet is getting worse, she is scheming to get to drive Sir Horace’s trap and get Big White Spot for herself and rename the brute Champion. Personally, I never saw a nag that looked less like the name, but one cannot tell her a thing. Pa is getting worse, now he says he will build an aqueduct across the stream or perish in the attempt. Personally, I do not care if he do, however Unfilial that may be.

    I suppose Ma has writ you that Curran is not Curran at all, he is Lord Geddings’s connexion? Corrant. Just like Sir Horace to get it wrong. All the same, he is not half a decent fellow. He has brought his curricle up here with a jolly fine team, tho’ to my eye they are not half so fine as Cousin Jack’s horses. Also some of his hacks. He put me up on a seventeen-hands chestnut, what do you think of that? Naturally I did not breathe a word to Pa: one has only to say the word ‘horse’ to him these days and he has fire in his eye. That ass Bertie may try to claim I had a leading-rein but it was no such thing, and Mr Corrant says I have a natural seat, what do you think of that? He has named him Chataigne, the which Ma says is self-evident, but personally I think it is not half witty. He is not half a fine shot. We got out with the guns the other day, only after rabbits, but had some not half fine sport. I got a fine, fat one; what do you think of that? Mr Corrant says I am a natural shot and even Sir Horace said it was d— well done! Cook made an extra-fine pie, and Ma warned me to say that the rabbits came from Sir Horace, should Pa ask, but I did not need telling, I can tell you! Not that there is any logical connection between a fine bit of rough shooting and a fellow’s wishing for an Army career, but between you and me, he is Far Past Logic. And it is a pity to see a once-fine mind going that way.

    I dare say the womenfolk will all be writing you that Mr Corrant is paying court to Alice, so I shall leave all that to them. At least he is not singing songs at her over Sir Horace’s spinet like what Paul did that Christmas when he was courting Maria, do you remember that? Horrible, were it not? Though that fine goose we had to our dinner were not half a compensation! Sir Horace claims that Mr Corrant is a d— fine performer on the instrument but personally I never saw a man less likely to indulge in that sort of flummery, so I dare say it is just one of his hums.

    Cook says please to write the receet for the rhubarb preserve to Alice. Only for my part, you need not bother: one cannot imagine what could possibly make rhubarb taste good. Or even passable.

    I wish you would come back: it is impossible to find a soul with whom one might have a sensible conversation in this house. And Ma has ordered me not to be running off to the Hall and getting under Sir Horace’s and Mr Corrant’s feet every day, as if I were a brat of Lilibet’s age. There is no bearing it!

Yr. loving brother,

George Buffitt.

My dearest Anne,

    Pray do not fly up into the boughs: I am not “rushing off” as you put it, on a round of country visits this autumn either because I am in a green jealousy of Alice’s having a fashionable beau or to escape Aunt Honeywell, tho’ the latter notion has at least some logic to it!

    Seriously, dearest Annie-Pannie, I am very glad for Alice. I think her affections are truly engaged, and there is no need to fear it is another case of “Mrs Fogarty”. She wrote me the most affecting letter, in which she confessed that when Mr Corrant takes her hand (to hand her into the trap, of course, nothing in the slightest improper), her heart flutters! I am quite, quite sure that she feels for him all that you yourself do for Mr V. I just hope and pray that Sir Horace’s faith in him is justified and he is a decent man, able and willing to support her.

    I shall see you very soon, as Lady Ferdy Lacey’s sister, Lady Jerningham, is to collect me from Bullivant Hall and take me on with her to Valentine Manor. (I know you do not know her, Annie-Pannie—nevertheless!) Then we shall head for the Jerninghams’ home in Derbyshire, and after a while spent visiting with the Jerninghams and their friends there, they will take me on to Lady Ferdy L. After that Lady Ferdy and Lady Stamforth between them seem to have settled it all (tho’ I fancy a deal of the settling was in fact done by Lady Ferdy’s mamma, Lady Lavinia Dewesbury!), and I will be rotated amongst Lady F.’s Dewesbury connections until finally I am spun back to Bath in time for Lady Stamforth to scoop me up with Alice and spirit us off to the Castle for Christmas. In the case yr. heart was begun to fret over Great-Aunt P.’s lonely Christmas, it may stop now: there is a positive plethora of Portwinkle relations due, and Alice, the last I heard, still seems determined to go back to her for it. Likewise Aunt Honeywell will be Honeywelled under for the entire festive season, she has writ to say that she does not expect me until early Feb.—too bad if Lady Stamforth were intending to get rid of me earlier!

    She, i.e. Lady S., writ me a very excited letter: Aunt Sissy had writ her a very greatly exaggerated picture of the romance of Alice & Mr C., you see. To my surprise Lord S. appended the most sensible, kindly note, assuring me that “Nan” was being premature (tho’ I had seen it for myself) and that they are quite sure that Alice could not care for a man who is not all that is gentlemanly and right-thinking: was not that lovely of him? They do not know the specific Mr C. but he assured me that it is a very large family, so I suppose it is not surprising that Lady Bullivant has never mentioned the coincidence of his being in our neighbourhood.

    I have a confession to make: Lady Bullivant was most interested to hear you had a special trick of doing a French knot, so in all probability it will be all round fashionable circles by now! I can only apologise: at times it is very difficult to find a suitable topic of conversation for such a kind, well-meaning, and conventional lady.

    I think it is a little too soon to discuss what Mr C. might do for the boys, tho’ you are quite right to hope. No right-thinking gentleman of means could see their present plight and not meditate how he might help them, an he had the right, I am quite sure. I am sure Ma has thought of it, Annie-Pannie: she is not as unaware of such matters as you seem to imagine.

    You are so right: we do sometimes seem a long way away from that little Anne leaning on the gate that was about to give way and that scruffy Peg headed for London in the back of a cart, at the beginning of spring—was it only this last spring? It is only natural to have such reflections from time to time, and of course it is not being in the least disloyal to Mr V., you goose!

Hundreds of hugs and kisses, Annie-Pannie, from yr. loving sister,

Peg.

P.S. Altho’ it is very, very kind of Mr V., senior, to offer Lilibet a spaniel pup, pray do NOT accept before checking with Ma & ensuring she has sounded out Pa, for in the mood he is in, it would be just like him to say she may not have it—not for spite, the which would at least be human, but just to be contrary!

My dear Horrible,

    It was so lovely to get your letter and hear of your doings in Bath with your little sisters and the Pug. Of course it was not boring, on the contrary! Before Peg & I were in London we had never lived in a town, or even relatively close, like Alice with Great-Aunt P., so to us your lives are full of interest.

    Since I came home from Valentine Manor Alice & I have done very little, merely taken some pleasant walks. The countryside is very pretty at this time of year, the leaves just starting to turn, and the big oaks at Monday Hall still looking very massy and impressive.

    Mr Corrant has just left Chelford Place. Sir Horace is very disappointed that he cannot stay on for some serious shooting, but his friends and relatives were expecting him back in London. In any case Great-Aunt Portwinkle is expecting Alice back and has writ to say the carriage will arrive for her at the end of the week. The weather continued to favour us right up to the end of his stay, and he kindly arranged a farewell picknick for us all, the most comfortable expedition you could imagine, with his curricle, Sir Horace’s trap and a barouche belonging to the Place press’d into service. We went over to the east of the C.P. property, further than I had been before, where there is a fine prospeck of a winding river backed by some impressive hills. Horrible, I blush it confess it, but Pa would not come! Tho’ Mr Corrant had included him in the invitation, express. He said picknicks were for puling imbeciles. I hope yr. dear Mamma will not object that I write the word: Alice says it is not polite in that context but not rude in itself.

    We had the finest time, with cold press’d duck and the most delicious jam tartlets to the Feast! Maria would have enjoyed it of all things: it is such a pity that she is so far from us, though of course an excellent opportunity for Paul, and the family can never repay Mr Beresford for his kindness in finding him the post.

    Mr C. is the most gentlemanly person, and to my mind quite good-looking (tho’ between you and me, not young. But then, dearest Alice is scarcely a débutante, is she?) Did you ever see Lord Geddings in town? Of course I have never danced with him myself but I have seen him, and to my mind, Mr C. has a great look of him, only natural, in that he is a connexion.

    Peg writes very often and I can assure you that she is truly glad about the growing affection between our dear Alice and Mr C. She writes in her funning way that if only she had anticipated anything so exciting could possibly eventuate from the direction of Sir Horace’s fabled “Mr Curran” she would not have gone on her round of visits, but strickly between you & me, dear Horrible, I think she went to escape Pa. The odd note you say you discerned in her letter cannot possibly be due to any jealousy of Alice, I promise you. Between you & me, I am quite sure she is pining for our Cousin B., and regrets that she did not go to Cumberland after all.

    Pray ask your Mamma if she would care for Lady Bullivant’s receet for an excellent rhubarb preserve with ginger in it. Cook says it sounds delicious and as soon as the rhubarb comes on again, will be sure to make it.

    We are all well, pray tell your Mamma, and convey my respectful thanks to her for her kind enquiries.

    With respectful regards to your Mamma, Papa, and brothers & sisters, and warmest love to yourself, I remain,

Your loving Cousin,

Anne Buffitt.

My dearest Peg-Peg,

    Let me burst out with the good news immediately: Anne is engaged to Mr Valentine! I don’t know when I’ve felt such a sensation of mixed joy and relief! She is writing you herself, of course, but I doubt that the letter will be very coherent.

    You will perhaps not be surprised to hear that Mr V. turned up here, not precisely out of the blue, but certainly before even the most optimistic of us expected him. Fortunately when he arrived at the house (with a posy for me rather than for Anne, such tact!) your father was somewhere up the stream, puddling around with his continued nonsense about aqueducts. Of course it was instantly clear he had come into the districk to offer, and even the least optimistic of us must have spotted that, for the minute he left the house she burst into tears of joy. I did not point out to the poor girl that it was highly unlikely that your Pa would give his consent: I went up the stream myself and spoke to him.

    I had not been up there this age: he has made the most shocking mess and there is a great Pond suddenly appeared, we shall have Sir Horace rampaging up and down complaining of the drowning of his meadows again. Added to which he has got that huge idiot Davey Dingley to chop down the better part of a stand of trees to build the thing! I said to him: “Damian, standing timber is worth money, and poor Sir Horace would be quite within his rights to demand reimbursement for that, you know.” To which he replied that I sounded just like Alice and it was as well she had gone back to Aunt P.! As you may imagine, this put me in precisely the right mood, so I then announced that Mr V. had turned up, that he was about to offer for Anne, and that if he did not give his consent I would leave him on the instant, for his interference with yourself and poor Mr B. had been the Last Straw. As you might guess he looked down his nose and asked leave him for whom? I had my answer ready prepared and said that Paul and Maria would welcome me and the little ones any day and that Mr B. would send Bertie to school and put George into the Army or the Navy—taking the poor man’s name in vain, yes; but I think only a little, for he certainly spoke most sympathetically to me about the boys’ futures when he came over to see Paul. Your father immediately changed tack in that infuriating way of his when he knows he is beaten but is refusing to admit it, and replied in his vaguest voice that he had no objection to Mr Valentine’s supporting Anne for the rest of her life, and he only hoped he could do so with equanimity. I was very tempted to push him into his stupid aqueduct, as you may imagine, but I said only: “Good. See that you stick to it,” and walked off and left him to it.

    Mr V. had assured us that he would return on the following day, which he duly did, and altho’ your father had vanished up the stream again he had said that I could send “the fellow” up to him when he came, so I did, poor man. No, well, at least he had met him before, it was not as if it was a complete shock. Tho’ I admit he went very red when it burst upon him that altho’ he was expected, his intended’s Papa was not in.

    Damian has refused to say what was actually said, and I did not like to interrogate Mr V., as he is not my son-in-law yet, but it was all right, Peg-Peg: he gave his consent, and Mr V. came right back and popped the question immediate. I dare say if you should care to write to Lilibet she will tell you his very words, because the little horror went and Lurked under the parlour windows, eavesdropping! Well, it was a choice of walk past the windows in full view of the pair to drag her away, or remain tactfully unseen by crawling in the mud, so I’m afraid I left her there. Alice is right, and I cannot manage her at all. And then after he had been Accepted, of course I was in far too good a mood to be able to send her off to bed without her supper—or even to think of it, frankly!

    I don’t think I can possibly describe Anne’s state for you: a state which beggars description, in fact! Well, do you remember when Maria became engaged to Paul? Multiply that by about fifteen. Especially the bouts of bawling. As a matter of fact I was so relieved that when they emerged from the parlour with the happy news I burst out bawling myself.

    I dare say all our relatives will frown horribly, as Anne is still so young, but I have agreed that it should be quite a short engagement. Well, for goodness’ sake, Mr V. is not young, if she is, and then, if she stays at home for any length of time what is the betting her dratted father will go back on his word?

    Naturally Sir H. heard within ten minutes of the man’s arrival that Mr Valentine was at the inn, so he has now hailed him up to the Hall and is promising a magnificent engagement dinner for the pair. After which he seems to envisage taking Mr V. over to Cumberland to visit with Mr B. Willy-nilly—quite. He most generously suggested Anne should be married from Monday Hall, but I think the Valentines would prefer the ceremony to take place at their home. It may not be the usual thing but it is certainly understandable. In any case I will have the opportunity of discussing it with Mrs V., because she wishes us to come to them for Christmas. Poor Sir H. most disconcerted, for evidently he had been planning a most magnificent Christmas for us all this year, with the almost very nearly certain promise of Corrants galore! Except that the scheme had so far remained in his head, so we could not guess we were disappointing him. But then cheered himself up by deciding that of course he could stay on with Mr B. for Christmas, for it will be getting on that way by the time he gets there! (It won’t. Help!)

    Write soon, my dearest Peg-Peg, and of you cannot support these Fashionables who seem to have taken you up, for Heaven’s sake come home immediate to

Your loving, Relievved, but Distracked

Ma.

P.S. I am sure you have too much sense to do any such thing, but in the case you should be tempted to breathe the word “Bridesmaid” to Lilibet in yr. next, pray do not!

My very dear Peg,

    Pray do not be alarmed to receive this from me. The children are well, as also our kind neighbours at Beresford Hall, but Maria has broken her leg and the household is in the straits you may imagine, in especial as Mrs Beresford, as is her usual custom in the colder weather, has gone to her home in Bath. Mrs Matthews is all that is kind but of course she has her own household to see to—and in short, Peg, since Alice is back with Mrs Portwinkle and Anne and your mother are engaged to go to the Valentines for Christmas, could you possibly come? Maria will be laid up for some months yet.

    I am sending this care of Sir Lionel and Lady Lavinia Dewesbury at Dewesbury Manor, as we calculate that is where you and the Laceys must be at this point. Should you see yr. way clear to coming to us, Miss Beresford has kindly offered the use of the carriage to collect you, but I think it might be more expeditious if yr. kind friends were to put you on the stage, in the which case be assured that I shall meet you in person at the staging inn in the town.

In the hopes of hearing from you very soon,

I remain,

Yr. loving brother-in-law,

Paul Hilton.

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