Salvation of Ignorance - Chapter 5: Let This Deter You

Chapter 5: Let This Deter You

“Am I right in my attentions to such a subject?”

“Well…it certainly is a questionable subject.”

Phoebe frowned as Elinor delighted herself with a sip of tea.

Two lots of distance were conquered on her attempt home before she felt inclined to enact upon her friend’s services. While Rastco guarded the garden in slumber, the two ladies took beverage in the Wade household’s parlor.

“It is uncharacteristic of me to pay particular attention to such matters,” Phoebe provided logic for Elinor to see merit in Phoebe’s concerns.

Elinor swallowed and cupped the cup in her hands, “It appears he wore the tailcoat within consecutive days. Not entirely odd within a two day time span.”

“But as an associate of Mr. Talwin, it seems he would possess sufficient income to stock his wardrobe to prevent need for reuse, right?”

Elinor slid her thumb across the rim of the cup, “I suppose he may not be as fortunate in circumstance as Mr. Talwin.”

Phoebe folded her hands in her lap and brought her shoulders to her ears. If such was the case, then Mr. Talwin was truly not a man to be forsaken. To be empathetic to the less fortunate, he was precisely the man to run the Barrettmore plantation. To husband.

“Was this all you called upon me for?”

Her hands held no match to Elinor’s statement, but uneasy about facing the judgment in the jade eyes, Phoebe chose to rebelliously lean into her cup, which had been left untouched, and check to see how the chips of chocolate fared the warm liquid. A murky success greeted her.

“May I not call upon you with inessentials?” Phoebe suggested before placing her tea spoon in her mouth for a sample of her success.

“You may, but it would be uncharacteristic.”

The spoon was lowered, but the ridge it formed between Phoebe’s lips remained, “Is it?”

Elinor placed the tea upon its saucer, “Not that it’s a required trait.”

“I could visit more often, if--.”

“Please do not. My mother always frets when you do.”

“Your mother knows?” Into the sea, Spartans should cast her.

“I’ve told her nothing of your concerns. She merely thinks you walk too much. And read too much. And stumble over your words too much.”

“And visit too much.”

Elinor smiled, “No, never enough.”

Phoebe enjoyed a sip of the tea-flavored, chocolate beverage.

“What if I were to visit less frequently?” Phoebe confided. Elinor’s silence persuaded Phoebe to continue, which she could not unless she glanced at the scenery through the adjacent bay window, “I have a grandmother.”

“Really?”

Phoebe exhaled a laugh, and now had enough courage to bring her attention to the needle work of the cloth protecting the table separating the two friends, “She wishes to see me…from--for me to go to London.”

“London, England?”

“Do we have a London?” Phoebe was genuinely curious.

“I hope so.”

“I’m not certain if I want--No, I would love to meet her, but I’m uncertain as to whether I will. As to whether…I should.”

Elinor joined Phoebe in examining the table cloth, but was left unsatisfied until she peered through the window. Her head tossed left and right, and her body leaned forward, intent upon securing an object for review.

“And what of Mr. Talwin?”

The chocolate tea tasted of lukewarm water, “What of him?”

Elinor returned to sitting with her back erect and hands folded in her lap, “Would you be willing to risk giving advantage to someone to take your place in your absence?”

“…Oh,” Phoebe said into her lap, “I believe that advantage could be made regardless of my presence.”

“Besides,” She quickly added, upon hearing Elinor’s sigh, “He is from London. I may happen upon him there.”

“Yes, but he is here now, where you can happen upon him for certain.”

Phoebe nodded, though further from the answer to her confession than before.

“Phoebe, I’m not asking about your romantic attachment.”

The nodding intensified, hoping to cease the brewing conversation by reassuring Elinor of her concur.

“But I know how you are when pressured.”

“Oh, no, I understand why everyone--," Phoebe tried vocalization instead.

“And I’d hate for you to let this deter you from securing such an opportunity.”

“But that is not the reason--!” Phoebe’s stomach clenched.

Elinor’s eyebrows twitched and held her gaze on her friend. Phoebe noticed she had slightly alighted from her seat and quickly rectified her state. Tucking in her lip, she brought her cup to her lips and was caught unawares to find flavor and warmth in the drink once more.

“I do wish to marry him.” The tensing in her shoulders lessened upon the verification. “Should he make me an offer, I’m certain I would find happiness in the result.” A smile crept, as this also reasoned with her conscious. “I may not love him now, but I’m certain that if I could not grow to love him, then I am incapable of doing so. Which is more than I required from a union.”

She regretfully caught a sight of the jade eyes and quickly diverted her attention to a vase on the other side of the room, “But, anyway, I simply wished to meet the only possible family I have, that is all. But, of course I will stay. You are right. I have plenty of troubles here to keep me occupied.”

The touch of skin against porcelain could be heard from the table, “Perhaps you could inform Mr. Talwin of your trip.”

Phoebe quickly took Elinor’s face to vision, “Oh, Elinor, I am serious about my indecision for departure.”

“I’m delighted. Perhaps we could use his advice on the subject.”

Elinor sipped her tea, and patiently waited for her friend to close the circular gap at the tip of her lips, “Would that not upset him?”

“Perhaps. Or we may learn of his intentions toward remaining in Virginia.”

Phoebe smiled into her cup, savoring the social wisdom of her friend. Bless Elinor's patience in this suitor ordeal. It was she who corrected Phoebe's belief that Mr. Talwin's constant conversation seeking were not a ploy of a cruel, provocational jest. The same women of sentiment who provided opportunities for their speech. She was cupid's apprentice, and Phoebe was at a lost as to how life could function without such assistance.

Mr. Claremont's invitation for a dance resurfaced. Although she could not receive benefits from the suggestion, had she been absent, Elinor certainly could. The gentleman had traveled across seas for his friend, demonstrating quality to their relationship (whether it was stitched with a thread of economical gain, Phoebe had not the tongue to mention it). It was always her intention to maintain her girlhood friendship, but such maintenance would be simplified if Elinor attached herself to a close acquaintance of Mr. Talwin. Her stomach relaxed.

“Should we inquire after Mr. Claremont's opinion?”

Elinor lowered her cup, choosing against completing the siphon, “What effect would his opinion have?”

Phoebe had to remind herself not to succumb to speculation, for it would be expected for the suggestion, and not solely for Phoebe's interest in Mr. Claremont's opinion. She felt compelled to trace the lines of the cup's handle, “Merely to gain his opinion for remaining here. He certainly seemed appreciative of the landscape."

“I suppose his staying may keep Mr. Talwin here, but my suggestion for asking Mr. Talwin was offering a way to receive confirmation of what interests him in our country.”

“But are you not curious to simply learn of Mr. Claremont's interests?”

“I...I do not--.”

“He seemed interested in your opinion.” Patience and subtlety were lost concepts to Phoebe.

Elinor sat back in her seat after having spent the last few exchanges leaning closer for better hearing.

“Phoebe, I must profess that I am an advocate for honesty. Therefore, I must admit that that man's name has officially been unable to remain unmentioned by anyone who has entered this house.”

A smile turned the corners of Elinor's lips downward.

“I'd hate to see you...not marry...no, be deterred by--.”

“If it's your intention to quote me, it's: 'I’d hate for you to let this deter you from securing--'.”

“Surely, you find him amiable?”

“I do not.”

Phoebe faltered, but then voiced her comprehension, “Well, he may not be as fortunate as Mr. Talwin, but he is charming.”

“In both mind and body, he is not.”

Her veins began to pulse, “He's...not?”

Elinor polished off her drink and began to serve another, “His attire was inappropriate and his manners followed suit.”

Phoebe frowned at the simplicity of her response, “...How so?”

“Well, for one thing, he wore green to an evening event--.”

“Mr. Talwin wore purple, and both gentlemen wore darker shades...and gloves.”

“Yes, but the details upon Mr. Talwin's coat emphasized that the color was merely chosen for attention.”

“Perhaps green gave justice to the same cause.”

Elinor shrugged her lip and glanced to the side in speculation, “Then there was his hair, which clearly had been neglected.”

“Perhaps men of London chose to neglect their hair this season.”

“Then there was the air of arrogance in his witticism.”

“It was used as a ploy for his humor.”

“So you agree, he was arrogant.”

Elinor was only capable of giving logical arguments, but Phoebe could not agree with any she recently listed. Phoebe's voice drowned with the emptying of her cup's contents.

Mr. Talwin had offered his home to be the setting of that night’s festivities. The majority of the party were cattled to the acreage behind the house to partake in the merriment to be found amongst the situated tents and bonfire. Presently, Elinor and Phoebe occupied themselves in the entryway at the wake of the grand-staircase, coinciding with their host's request, who was kept away with obligations toward the enormity of guests awaiting his greetings.

Both ladies stood beside the centerpiece, which was a prime example of Grecian exhibition, but Phoebe found another marble display to be of interest. Outlining the circular lobby were the alignment of stairs. Her eyes traced the spiral overlay until she was forced to spin around to see the merger between the steps and the second floor hallway. Lowering her sight of vision to assess the height, she found a smile bearing Mr. Talwin in the archway below the merger.

“Is it satisfactory?”

Phoebe's brows pressed inward and upward, “I hope I hadn't implied otherwise.”

Mr. Talwin smiled to the ground, “It is the only thing you imply. Greed simply compelled me for clarification.”

“You have a skill for illumination,” Phoebe noted after taking the inventory of the elaborate display of candles garnishing the room.

“Extra precaution against any spirits to wander past the bonfire outside. Mi--.”

Phoebe made the mistake of squeezing a laugh prematurely, but shortened it to allow him a chance to resume.

“Yes, ah, might you care to see it?”

“Do you intend to remain in Virginia past the season's end?”

Mr. Talwin stiffened and Phoebe was equally appalled at her brazen outburst of impatience. Finally, his smile returned and a mild chuckle was made to rectify the lack of decorum displayed, “Yes, I find my attentions better served here.”

“Oh.”

“'Oh'?” The smile dissipated.

“No, no. Virginia would hate to part ways with you,” Phoebe corrected herself, “I simply find myself bound for London for the winter.”

“That's wonderful! I, myself, was just in the midst of planning such a voyage!”

“I thought your intent was toward Virginia?” Elinor spoke Phoebe's thoughts.

“No, no. My apologies,” He informed Elinor, “I meant that I would like to experience the Virginian winters, but alas, I find myself required at home...my home in England, I mean. Unless new plans arise to keep me here.”

The last sentence was spoken to Phoebe.

Momentary glances were exchanged between the ladies, who tried to hide their mirth from the result.

“Then all that's left is to find a vessel,” Elinor released the trio's laughter.

One could not approach within an inch of the mountainous flames, consuming a pile comprised of a multitude of abandoned artifacts, without experiencing the sensations of having one's face melt off their bones. Instructions were attached to Peter Talwin's invites that each guest present one object, that they found undesirable, to be used to fuel the night's fire. Unfortunately, anything that Phoebe wished removed from her life would be more vocal of their complaint in comparison to old letters, school papers, and old furniture.

Though, she began to regret arriving empty handed as she witnessed the game that erupted, which rules dictated a competition for the players to burn the largest objects they could find and transport by hand. Clearly the initial sentiments in the instructions were lost by Mr. Talwin's appreciative laughter for his guest's merriment, despite the fire hazard brewing within the same lot of his family's home.

As the pile increased, so did the population of men around the fire, prompting vocalization of a curious observation, “Your friend seems to be missing in all this merriment.”

Mr. Talwin stiffened and Phoebe feared he may question the reason behind the inquiry.

He adjusted his cravat, “Last I saw of him, he took to his room for sleep, but I'm sure the festivities will wake him...at some point.”

One of Phoebe's hands went to work wringing the pinky of the other, “Well, I did happen upon him while Mrs. Emmons escorted him about the terrain. I'm sure she must've exhausted him.”

A sudden fit of coughing from Mr. Talwin jolted the attentions of the two ladies upon him. Phoebe quickly retrieved a handkerchief from her bodice and offered it to the gentleman. The coughing settled as Mr. Talwin regarded the offering. His lips curled upward, and instead of taking the article, he clasped his hands around both the offering and the hand that gave it.

“Miss Barrettmore, I believe I was wasteful for my decor of candles this night. Your generosity is more than enough to keep the spirits at bay.”

The exterior of his hand slid upon the interior of hers, protected only by her glove and the handkerchief. He placed a small kiss upon her fingers, and Phoebe managed a smile whilst instinctively flexing them once her hand was set free.

As the trio redirected themselves toward the tents, she began to feel the consequences of her over-indulgence in chocolate tea. A few guest vied for Mr. Talwin's accompaniment to their conversations, giving opportunity for Phoebe to whisper her dilemma to Elinor. Phoebe followed after her friend, in search of her parents, when a grasp of her hand jolted her back in place.

“Terribly sorry for the distraction, Miss Barrettmore.”

Phoebe smiled back at Mr. Talwin, while attempting to extract her hand, “You are quite alright, Mr. Talwin. You're welcome to return to your guests--.”

“As I am.”

She exhaled a hesitant laugh, “Your other guests. Miss Wade and I were just planning our return home.”

Phoebe flinched as his grasp tightened, “But you've just arrived. You were unsatisfied with the decor?”

“I assure you, I was not.”

“Then the fire. Was it too mellow?”

“It was illuminating, but please--.”

“Then you feel I've abandoned you? I merely said 'hello's. I returned as soon as--.”

“Please, sir, this is indecent.”

“Then it is I who has failed to please.”

Phoebe's hand went numb, and she shook her head. As his grasp loosened, she gave a quick squeeze before allowing the severance to continue, “I need use of the privy.”

The wrinkles of her gloves unnerved her while she waited for his response.

“Oh.”

'Oh', indeed.

“We have a private chamber in the west wing.”

Phoebe was in the midst of shaking her head before he concluded, “It would be unfair to your other guests. Besides, I would hate to encourage the wrong impression.”

“I promise to snuff any whispers that lighten my ear,” He glanced to the left side of her while a smile emerged, “I should like to believe I may take responsibility for your reputation.”

Mr. Talwin wasted little time to hamper Elinor's search for her parents. Meanwhile, leaving Phoebe to depend solely on his directions by parol, she had conquered the grand-staircase without being sighted. It was upon entering the west wing, and noticing four doors to the left instead of five, that she encountered her dilemma. Assuming he confused his fourth with his fifth, she settled with the farthest door to the left.

Turning the knob, she opened the door partial way to see an armoire. It was odd to have a room specifically vacated for toiletries, but given Mr. Talwin's economical status, she had not questioned it. To instruct her to his chambers, however, was very questionable, even if done goodheartedly. Pushing the door forward by the tips of her fingers, she felt she owed him her efforts toward clarity.

The clarity she gained was not in regard to Mr. Talwin. A gentleman’s back was turned to her with wrinkled hands exploring the terrain. The hands belonged to a lady who was in close proximity to the man. Very close proximity. While trying to catch a glimpse of the faces, she recognized the womanly locks upon the man instantly.

“Eww.”

She had been terrified by enticing the looks of the two occupants by her utterance that it wasn't until she was safely down the stairs, and out of the lobby, that she realized she had slammed the door shut.

“Poor Clarice was a glutton for sweets.”

The woman speaking and Elinor both raised a brow to the momentary quiver of a giggle expressed by Phoebe.

Elinor turned back to the woman to prompt continuation of her tale while Phoebe made an endeavor to think of something that would alter her temper.

After the revealing, Phoebe sought out Elinor who had guided them into their third conversation since their reunion. Mr. Talwin had anticipated whose attention she would seek first and had kept Elinor company during their momentary separation. He extracted a promise of her staying until he returned from avoiding further snubbing toward his other guests. Which, given the livelihood his party held, she was certain to stay.

“I beg your pardon!?” The speaker screeched upon another of Phoebe's freedom seeking giggles.

Elinor made quick apologies in the midst of ushering the two of them out of the woman's vision.

“Phoebe, your conversational cues for laughter are generally horrific, but I shall not make apologies for another miscue during a speaker's recant of their pet's funeral. What could possibly be setting your funny bone awry?”

“I know why Mr. Claremont keeps his tailcoats wrinkled,” Phoebe confided, “He's a philanderer.”

“Oh...well, I suppose that is...unsavory--.”

“He prefers his woman how he likes his wine.”

Phoebe's hands were clasped over her lips, barricading further vocalization while her friend assessed the information. Hollow beads seemed to be skylarking about the inside lining of her abdomen. An eruption of laughter forced her hands to aid the area and was grateful that Elinor was of a similar state.