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Wghere Love Illumines, Where There is Love #2

By Donna Fletcher Crow

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One

Rowland, you simply must give up this insane enthusiasm!
You are accomplishing nothing but trouble for yourself and embarrassment for your family.” Mary Tudway snapped shut her painted silk fan for emphasis. “Including the more distant Mem¬bers of your family.” She stamped her foot to show how firmly she held her ground.
“In other words, you find me an embarrassment.” Rowland spoke slowly, almost in a drawl, his tall form relaxed and his brown eyes sparkling.
Mary’s chin rose in fury and frustration. “You are an embarrassment and—and an irritant, sir!” She whirled and swept from the drawing room before she could soften under the gaze of his kind, laughing eyes.
But her triumphal exit was spoiled. She forgot that she was wearing her extra wide hoops, and she stuck in the doorway. Had Rowland laughed at her predicament, her temper would
have forced her through the door even if it meant bending her hoops and tearing the chenille embroidery from her gown. But his soft entreaty, "Mary, please, let me speak,” extinguished her
anger as quickly as it had ignited.
After his long fingers disengaged her hoop from the carved
door jamb, he held out his hand to lead her back into the room. She placed the tips of her fingers in the palm of his hand and allowed him to lead her to the damask-covered sofa.
Yet it was Mary who spoke first. "Rowland, you know I regret my hasty temper. But I do not apologize for my sentiments.
No one suggests you should give up your desire to take holy orders. That is most admirable and praiseworthy. With your distinguished family background, you will rise quickly and be able to hold a high office in the church. It is just this ridiculous Methodist notion you have taken into your head—”
“Mary—”
“Your sister Elizabeth has spoken to me of it often. What if it were to be generally known in Wells, and the electorate refused to return my brother Clement to Parliament? Have you given no thought to the effect your actions will have on those near to you?”
“Mary—”
“Look at you! When we met at Clement and Elizabeth’s wedding, I thought you the most handsome man I’d ever seen.” She closed her eyes and a small smile played around the corners of her lips. “I can still see you now in your red velvet coat embroidered in silver. And you danced the cotillion quite to perfection. Now you tell me you have given all that up for some nonsensical religious ideas.”
“Mary—”
“Elizabeth says you are quite alone in your views at
Cambridge and that the authorities are seriously alarmed by your activities. And she also says your mother is prostrate with worry.
If you care nothing for my opinion, you must care for hers.”
“Mary—”
This time he was interrupted not by Mary, but by a
bewigged and liveried footman announcing that dinner was served. Rowland bowed as Mary preceded him from the room, remembering to turn slightly sideways at the door. “Indeed,
Mary, I thank you for granting me this interview. I do feel
relieved at having been allowed to speak my mind.” Again his eyes sparkled.
For all her outward poise, Mary felt strangely shaken inside. It was nothing unusual for her to lose her temper, no matter how much she might wish it otherwise. Nor was it unusual for her to speak the bold truth to any situation as she saw it, no matter how often her mama reminded her that tactful dissimulation would be more ladylike. But this confrontation with Rowland was dif¬ferent.
How could he possibly consider taking a course of action for his life that was certain to lead to nothing but disaster?
She sighed. It seemed that even all her arguments could not make him change. Of course, she knew he had espoused a personal religious faith since he’d been a student at Eton. But this new enthusiasm was far worse. Visiting jails and hospitals was simply not done by people of consequence. Certainly not by a son of Richard Hill, Baronet of Hawkstone, who could trace his family lineage back to Edward I and who was descended from Richard Hill, the first Protestant Lord Mayor of London, a man knighted by King Henry VIII.
She entered the anteroom and crossed to her mother who was chatting with their guests newly arrived from London. “Ah, here you are, Mary, my dear. You have hidden yourself away from our guests, and Sarah is simply bursting to talk to you, I’m sure."
Mary’s friend, Sarah Child, flew to her with a flutter of silk skirts, lace flounces, and giggles. “Mary, I haven’t seen you for such ages. I have the most handsome new beau to tell you about—”
Mrs. Tudway interrupted Sarah by leading the guests into the dining room in strict order of rank, ladies first. A footman held the chair for her at the top of the table among all the women, with the most important female guests next to her. The master, Charles Tudway, sat among the men in order of rank at the bottom end of the table. The first course consisted mainly of meats— roasted, boiled, stewed, and fried—some with sauces. But the dish of which Charles Tudway was most proud was served by the butler from a large silver soup tureen on the sideboard.
“Finest turtle soup you'll ever taste. My estate manager sends the turtles over from Antigua—always marked CT on the tail so there won't be any likelihood of my turtles being substi¬tuted for smaller ones bound for some house in London.”
Robert Child took a rather noisy sip of his soup. “Ahhh. Tastier and richer than any we have at Osterley Park.”
“I’ll have my manager send you a turtle,” Tudway offered. The men then fell to a discussion of the parliamentary session in London. Their conversation was kept lively with anecdotes from the two MPs seated at the table. Wells was represented in the House of Commons by Clement Tudway and his neighbor, Robert Chylde, a distant relative of the Robert Child of Osterley Park. Having two men with the same name at the table added confusion to the already animated conversation.
At the other end of the table, Hannah Tudway turned to Mrs. Child. “My dear Sarah, your fine taste in decorating Osterley is quite famous. Perhaps you could just put a word in for me with Mr. Tudway. Don’t you find this room somewhat lacking in ornamentation?”
Mrs. Child gazed around the elegant dining room with its rich paneling and ornate stuccoed ceiling. “The carved fireplace is one of the finest I’ve ever seen. It rivals anything we have at Osterley—” She hesitated, looking at the marble-encased flames chasing the chill from the January night
“Ah, you see my point precisely. The west wall is so plain, is it not? I have tried for months to persuade Mr. Tudway that we should have our portraits done by that Mr. Gainsborough who has set up his studio in Bath. Now wouldn’t that be just the thing to hang there?”
Mrs. Child agreed enthusiastically, and Mary smiled at the new strategy in her mother’s campaign.
“This is famous,” Mary said to Sarah seated next to her. “If Papa can be persuaded to go to Bath soon, we will be there while your mama is still taking the waters. I should like above all things to be in Bath with you.”
Sarah returned her friend’s smile. "We shall have ever so many beaux. Westmoreland has promised he will follow me to Bath. I can’t fathom why Papa doesn’t approve of him. He is prodigiously handsome, even if he does have a squint in one eye.
But as soon as Papa returns to London and his musty old bank, Mama won’t refuse to let me dance with anyone the Master of Ceremonies presents."
Mary was three years older than her friend; but Sarah, raised in the Social whirl of London society, was far more experienced in the ways of the world. The pampered only child of one of London’s richest bankers, she had been denied nothing. Although Mary's embroidered cream satin gown was made by Wells’s best dressmaker, she knew it lacked the French elegance of Sarah’s brocaded white silk with undulating trails of flowers in shades of cream, green, and pink. And although Mary’s brown hair was piled fashionably high on her head with a tiny lace frill perched on top and one long curl caressing the side of her neck, she knew that Sarah’s hair, formed several inches higher over a wire frame, far outdid hers in style.
Mary shivered with excitement as she thought of the fashionable beaux she and Sarah might spend time dancing with in Bath. Then she looked down the table at Rowland. He threw his head back in laughter at a witticism of her father’s, and the pose showed off his luxuriant brown hair, with the front brushed straight back and the back portion long and tied with a black ribbon which he brought round and tied in a bow over his fine lace cravat Although she had berated him earlier for his lack of fash¬ion, she had to admit he did look well in his cutaway coat and matching waistcoat of green poplin decorated with silk braid. If only he had instructed his tailor to add some gold embroidery and metallic lace. Ah, well, there would be plenty of handsome young men in fashionable coats to show her a good time in Bath.
Her father’s voice came again to Mary’s ears. “The last letter from my manager in Antigua brought distressing news. There has been a sudden fall in the price of sugar.” Mr. Tudway shook his head, his bob-wig swaying.
“Confidence, that’s all we need, more confidence. The markets will rise again. Oversupply at the moment, I’m sure,” the banker reassured him. Child ladled a scoop of sugar over his macaroni mold.
But Squire Tudway was not so easily comforted. “But then there’s the matter of my rum—a whole shipment aboard The McHeale. It seems to have slipped the captain’s memory.”
Child laughed and raised his wine glass with a flourish. “More like it strengthened the memory of the sailors. If the captain knew nothing of it being there, he certainly could have no care of it.”
Tudway frowned. "That is precisely my worry. I have known sailors to drink more than one-third of a vessel’s cargo in a voyage and fill the bottles up with water. But I hope this is not the case.”
Now Mary was worried. Papa did not sound at all in a mood to remove to Bath for Mama’s portrait scheme—still the topic of conversation among the women. “Everyone of importance has been painted by Gainsborough,” Elizabeth was saying to Mary’s mother. “If Father Tudway refuses to go to Bath, perhaps you could accompany Clement and me, Mother Tudway. I’m sure when he sees how handsome your portrait is, he’ll agree to sit¬ting for one of his own.”
On Mary’s other side, Child had returned to his favorite topic. “... but Child’s Bank won’t back such risky schemes as those. Yes, sir, my family's been doing business for over a hun¬dred years in No. 1 Fleet Street at the sign of the Marygold, and I have no intention of weakening that position by backing a crackbrained scheme to settle New Zealand...”
Mary had heard the story often of Francis, the Child ancestor who had abandoned his trade of goldsmith in 1642 to devote himself to looking after other people’s money—thereby becom¬ing London's first banker and earning himself the title of “Father of Banking.”
“... and if I have anything to say about it, there will be a Child doing business at the sign of the Marygold for another hundred years,” continued Sarah’s father. Mary wondered how this was to be, since Sarah was an only child and would take her
husband’s name even if she inherited the business. Well, perhaps there was a cousin to carry on the Child name.
The circle of conversations had taken the diners through two courses, and now the servants entered bearing silver salvers with high pyramids of sweetmeats. The highest of the structures, a golden tower of candied apricots, was placed in the center of the table. Other three-sided pillars surrounded them in descending heights, offering confections of dried fruits and nuts, tiny tarts filled with fairy butter or jams, and marzipan formed into tiny flowers and birds.
Mary loved to take a variety of them on her plate and admire their cunning shapes and delicate colors. But she could never hold out for long against devouring the sugared almond paste, and her plate was soon bare. In spite of Hannah Tudway’s repeated warnings that Mary should grow quite stout if she continued to indulge, Mary’s dressmaker assured her that her form was the most graceful she had the honor of dressing.
The servants left, and Mary noted that the men had turned to discussing politics again. She wondered at Rowland’s unusual silence throughout the meal. He listened to the conversation with apparent interest and made appropriate comments, but without his usual liveliness. She hoped it wasn’t due to her anger with him earlier. She had no desire to wound him, although it was flattering to think he might care that much for her opinion.
Had her sharp words gone deeper than he had shown? Or were his problems with his family and the Cambridge authorities weighing on him more than he would admit? Ostracism couldn’t be easy to bear, even for one so constantly cheerful as Rowland.
Then a new thought struck her. How hard it must be for someone who enjoyed being surrounded with friends and who would have been one of the most popular men at Cambridge, to be forced into virtual isolation. Suddenly she had a quite different picture of her friend. Her sympathetic nature, as quickly aroused as her temper, reached out to him.
She recalled their meeting at the wedding of her brother
Clement to Rowland’s elegant sister Elizabeth. It had been one of the social events of the season. Mary was only a school girl at the time, but her mother had allowed her to dance three dances with family members. Rowland paid great attention to her and smiled at her ever so kindly, even when she tangled her feet in an intricate step and almost fell against him.
Since then when the families were together for Christmas, Rowland would give her the most thoughtful gifts. She especially treasured the vellum-bound volume of Milton, though she was now determined to read more fashionable poets.
"Indeed, we must make our plans soon.” Elizabeth's voice interrupted Mary’s thoughts. “Before all the fashionable people are driven from Bath by the Countess of Huntingdon and her enthusiastic preachers.”
Mary noted the long look this drew from Rowland seated just down the table from Elizabeth, but he made no comment. To Mary’s surprise, it was her mother who came to the countess’s defense. "It may be that she goes too far, but I believe she did well to bring some moral fiber to the city against that libertine Beau Nash. I am told that it’s not unusual for those who go to Bath to be cured of the gout to find themselves with a new case of the disease—a sure sign of overindulgence. I myself would not be adverse to visiting the countess’s chapel while we’re in Bath. I’m told Horace Walpole was most entertained there.”
“Oh, no, not another church service,” Sarah groaned. “Attending the Abbey every day after breakfast is surely quite enough care to take of one’s soul.”
“But I should hope you won’t attend the countess during any regular services of the Abbey.” Maria, John Tudway’s shy wife, spoke up for the first time that evening. “That would show the greatest disrespect to the established church. My dear papa feels such behavior can lead to grave errors. He has warned me repeatedly against entanglements with enthusiasts.”
Mary thought Rowland looked a little uncomfortable at this speech from the woman seated next to him. It gave Mary



great satisfaction when she was able to catch his eye with a telling look.
A few moments later, Maria requested her mother-in-law’s permission to leave the table. With a look that clearly expressed her hopes that Maria’s desire for rest would soon be followed by an interesting announcement from her second son and his wife, Mrs. Tudway nodded approval. This left no one sitting between Elizabeth and her brother. She turned to him and spoke in a low voice. “Rowly, I have had a letter from Mother. As I know you intend to depart early in the morning, I feel I simply must speak to you most plainly.”
Mary could not help overhearing this private conversation between brother and sister.
"Elizabeth, you know how dear Mother is to me. I would never choose to cause her distress.” The candlelight shone on his long face with the square jaw, heavy eyebrows, and kind mouth.
“Then, Rowland, you must give up this course you are pursuing. Enthusiasm can only bring disgrace upon yourself and the entire family. Papa has received a letter from the Master of St. John’s.” Elizabeth paused for emphasis.
“Yes?” The tight voice with which the single word was spoken revealed Rowland’s nervousness.
“If you continue to visit the prisons and hospitals and preach in the fields around Cambridge, you will force the authorities to take action. Rowland, you must give this up.”
“But no one tells our brother Richard he must give up his faith. No one tells our sister Jane she has disgraced the family by espousing a personal religion.”
"Your personal faith is just that—a personal matter. I do not speak of it. As indeed such matters should never be spoken of. It is your activities. Why can’t you behave as other young men your age? All of England, except a few Jews, are Christian—why must you make public display of it?”
"‘To him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, it is sin.’” Rowland spoke quietly. Mary could see that this was one situation he did not find humorous.


"But does not the fact that you are the only one who believes so in your entire university class of thirty-two gownsmen indicate that perhaps it is you who are wrong?”
“Nay, sister, it is you who are wrong.” And Mary noted that the sparkle had come back into his eyes. “In the entire university there are three others who would be identified as Christians.”
“My point precisely. A total of four gownsmen and no Master or dons?”
“I fear not. But the shoeblack at the gate always has a smile for me. Indeed, for the first year I was there, until I found my three friends, he was the only one in the university who would smile at me. But truly, our numbers have grown.”
Knowing the real situation, Mary realized that his humor was self-deprecating. For a moment her heart went out to him. How difficult to be one of only four holding out against the entire university on a matter of faith.
Later when the other guests had departed, Rowland took his leave of Mary. Again he showed no sign of his characteristic humor as he bowed over her hand. “Mary, I am to return to Cambridge for my final term. If all goes well, I should be ordained by summer. When that is accomplished, I wish to speak to you more to the point.”
Even more than his words, the look in his brown eyes elated and confused Mary so that it was impossible for her to form a reply. Fortunately his rapid departure made speech on her part unnecessary. She stood in the hall with the warm memory of his lips just brushing her fingertips as lightly as if she had dreamt it. His words left no doubt of their meaning; yet what could he be thinking? Did he expect her to marry a Methodist?
Then she smiled with a brilliance born of new hope. If he cared for her as deeply as his words indicated, he surely would change his actions. On their next meeting she would persuade him. It was only a matter of time until Rowland Hill would be a sensible young man.

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