“Such a dear young man. Your father was saying only this morning how pleased he was that you had chosen Edward. After all, we have known the family well for some time now. They are delightful people, almost like our own family. Whereas…” I waited and she frowned. “Well, no matter…” But I knew she was implying that very little was known about Peter Lansdon.
On another occasion she said: “David is so trusting. He is not like your father. David is inclined to think everyone is as uncomplicated as himself.”
“David is wise,” I said.
“Wise in booklore. He can quote from the classics and has some literary comment on almost any subject. He’s an expert on the past. He’s an idealist. But I wonder how much he knows about the less agreeable side of human nature. Claudine has got more and more like him with the years.”
“David,” I said, “is a very good man”
“Yes. I am glad Claudine married him and not his brother. At one time I thought… But that’s a long time ago. What was I saying… Your dress. We’ll have to decide on the sleeves.”
I wondered what was in her mind. She was comparing Edward with Peter Lansdon and was glad I had taken Edward.
Indeed there was such delight in my coming marriage from both my parents and parents-in-law-to-be that I began to feel that it was after all a very happy conclusion. There was only one person in whom I detected a faint animosity towards the coming event—and that was scarcely perceptible. But it was obvious to me that Clare was half in love with Edward. I could imagine her coming to the house and how Edward, the big cousin, would have been kind to her. Edward would always be kind, as indeed his parents would. There were some people who would feel like outsiders in such a situation and nurse a grievance against life for putting them in such a situation. Aunt Sophie had been such a one; perhaps Clare was another.
But I must confess I did not think a great deal about Clare, and as when I did she introduced a rather unpleasant flavour into the complacency which I was trying to keep going, I avoided her.
In March it was decided that I should go to Nottingham. Mother was to accompany Edward and me. Naturally Edward and I could not go alone and my mother said that if there were changes I wanted to make in the house I could discuss them with her.
We spent two nights in London on the way there and my mother and I did some shopping, and from there we set out on the one hundred and twenty-six mile journey north to Nottingham.
We rode in the carriage and stayed at some very pleasant inns on the way where Edward was well known as he made the journey often.
It was quite exciting riding into the town—a very pleasant one situated on the River Trent. High on a precipitous rock, rising above the river, were the walls of Nottingham Castle, which had been dismantled by Cromwell’s men during the Civil War. Edward was very proud of Nottingham, and told us little snatches of history as we went along. Of course it was the scene of the first of the battles between King Charles the First and the Parliament; he knew a great deal about its early history too, when the town had been overrun by the Danes.
The house was very attractive. It was just outside the town in fairly extensive grounds, built in the style which had become popular at the beginning of the previous century in the reign of Queen Anne. There was about it—as indeed there was about all houses built in the period—an air of dignity and restraint. It did not pretend to be a palace or a stately mansion. It was the home of gentlefolk of substance and good taste. It was built of the local stone which fitted well with the countryside.
My mother said it was a charming house. It made places like Eversleigh and Enderby look over-fussy.
I agreed with her, to Edward’s delight, and it was clear that he felt an immense pleasure in showing us over the house. What he really wanted me to see was the factory, but he thought, in view of the situation, that he should take us there when work was not in progress; and as we had arrived on a Saturday, he suggested the following day.
It was an interesting experience. My mother was as fascinated as I was; and Edward talked with knowledge and great enthusiasm of lace, its history, its manufacture, its varieties and how it had changed through the ages.
He showed us some exquisite patterns—specimens of Venetian, Italian and English needlepoint, and Flemish, Russian and German Pillow Lace. He pointed out the old-fashioned bobbins which were being used to placate the workers, and then he took us into a room where new machines were being installed.
There was a man on duty there, a young boy with him. He touched his forelock as we entered.
“All well, Fellows?” asked Edward.
“Yes, sir,” answered the man.
Edward introduced him as Fellows and his son Tom who was just coming in to the works. He explained to us that it was necessary to have someone guarding the machines night and day. If any of the Luddites broke in Fellows would be there to give the alarm.
I shivered. I could understand Edward’s deep concern. I realized that he must have the machines and on the other hand I could see why there was anxiety in the workers’ minds.
Edward explained the intricacies of the machines.
“This is the Leavers Lace machine,” he said. “Let me show you. The number of threads brought into operation is regulated by the pattern to be made. See. The threads are of two sorts, beam or warp and bobbin or weft.”
“It looks very complicated.”
“It’s easy enough to work. One man can control it and sixty pieces of lace can be made simultaneously.”
“So it can do at once what sixty men would take much longer to do.”
“That is how it is.”
“No wonder they are afraid of losing their jobs.”
“It’s progress,” said Edward.
Interested as I was I wanted to leave that room which contained the machines.
We left Fellows and his son on guard and returned to the house. I was feeling rather sober. Edward slipped his arm through mine.
“You’re feeling sad, aren’t you? You mustn’t. We’ll ride the storm.”
My mother said: “It is such an insoluble problem. I suppose you must have the machines.”
“Certainly we must—or give up. We can’t face competition without them.”
“And yet those poor men …”
“You realize the difficulties. But this is the sort of situation which will arise throughout the history of industry. We have to move with the times.”
“Which means that some must suffer on the way.”
“It is progress,” said Edward.
I turned my attention to the beautiful house. I think we were all trying to forget the problem of the machines.
The days began to pass pleasantly as I threw myself wholeheartedly in to discussions with my mother about furnishings.
“Actually,” I said, “there is very little I want to change.”
“It is all very tasteful,” agreed my mother. “I love the simplicity which disguises its elegant comfort.”
“It is a charming house,” I said.
“Don’t get too fond of it. We shall want to see you often at Grasslands.”
As the week progressed my mother, as always, showed a little nostalgia for home. She hated to leave Eversleigh too long and decided to return home in the middle of the following week.
Edward was away most of the day. I loved to walk through the town gardens and all the time I was grappling with myself, deciding that this was the life I had chosen and I must prepare myself to like it.
Why should I not? I was getting more and more fond of Edward. He was kind and gentle and would make the best of husbands. Young girls were foolish to seek exciting adventures, dreaming of knights on horseback performing valiant feats; they did not exist outside a girl’s imagination. I was too old for fancies. I had to grow up and face facts. It was not as though I had been in love with Peter Lansdon. I had just been flattered because in the first place he had noticed me and followed me in the street, taking such risks to rescue me. It had seemed like a romantic adventure, whereas my relationship with Edward was staid, steady and very comfortable.