An Unreasonable Match. Sylvia Andrew
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any man.
She came at length to her attic. This was her special place, her refuge. She had discovered it years ago, and had made it her own as soon as she found her grandfather’s comfortable old chair, and a bureau stuffed full of his books and papers stored there. And when she had returned from London in disgrace, at odds with the world, and out of charity with her much admired elder brother, this was where she had taken refuge. Her parents believed that she was putting her grandfather’s papers in order, possibly with a view to publication, and were happy to leave her to it. But, though that was how it had begun, it was far more than that.
For the last five years Hester, wary of exposing herself to yet more mockery for her “unfeminine” studies, had lived a double life. In public she did what was expected of the daughter of a prominent local family. Though she was regarded as something of a recluse, she rode and walked, worked in the still-room, supported her mother in her charitable work, had frequently visited India Rushford before her marriage to Lord Isham. She was quite often seen in company with her other cousins at the Vicarage. But whenever she could she escaped to her attic. The work on the Perceval papers was nearly finished. But this was not all she did here. And she owed her new occupation to Lowell.
In an effort to rouse Hester from her depression and apathy six years before, Lowell had taken out a subscription for her to Mr Garimond’s Journal of the New Scientific and Philosophical Society. The fact that the Society was exclusively for gentlemen was disregarded.
Even he could not have foreseen its effect. Hester read it eagerly, and then, greatly daring, sent in a short article on the use of mathematics in ciphers. Lowell had helped to keep her identity secret by delivering it in London himself. To her delight, the article was accepted and for some years now, with Lowell’s help, Hester had been sending articles in quite regularly. She called herself “Euclid”, for Mr Garimond insisted that all his contributors used the names of famous mathematicians of the past.
For the past year or more Euclid had been engaged in a duel of wits with “Zeno”, the Journal’s senior contributor. Zeno usually wrote scholarly articles on the philosophy of mathematics, but in response to something Hester had written in that first article he had set Euclid a cipher puzzle. He challenged “him’ to solve it before the month was out. This was now a regular feature, Mr Garimond acting as receiving office and umpire. Hester had just finished deciphering the latest, and it would soon go with Lowell to the Society’s offices in London.
Lowell was waiting for her in her attic. “Any luck? Have you managed to persuade Mama? I heard the discussion as I came up.”
“No,” Hester said in a resigned tone. “I’m to be frizzed and primped and dressed up and paraded in London, somewhat long in the tooth, but apparently still hoping for a husband. Why, pray? So that some man can take me off home and assume he has the right to tell me how to act and what to think. I truly think the world is mad—to condemn, as it does, half of the human race to mindless nonentity. Things will change eventually I suppose—women won’t tolerate it for ever. But it won’t be in time to save me.”
“Hold on, old thing! Not all men are unreasonable—as you ought to know.” He spoke reproachfully. She went to him and hugged him.
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to me, Lowell, I’m just totally out of humour at the idea of going to London again. I’m an ungrateful beast. You’ve been wonderful. I don’t know what I would have done without you. But you wait and see! You’re only twenty-two—still reasonably young. Another couple of years in society and you’ll be like all the rest.”
“No, I won’t,” he said stoutly. “But people do change in six years, you know. Perhaps some of those fellows might look at you differently now.” Then he added casually, “I know you have this prejudice about Dungarran, but he seemed very pleasant when we met him in Northampton. He’s probably forgotten what happened six years ago.” When his sister remained silent he went on, “Hester, he can’t have been as bad as you think him. Why do you mind him so much? Or was there something more? Something you haven’t told me.”
Hester’s voice was muffled as she bent over the bureau, searching through her papers. “Whatever could there be? He was one of Hugo’s friends and he did what Hugo asked him. He was kind enough to me until it all went wrong.” She emerged from the bureau, somewhat flushed. “Did you want something, Lowell?”
“Well, I came to hear Mama’s verdict. And I wondered if you had anything for the Journal. I’m out for the rest of the day and off to London early tomorrow morning. Have you anything for Garimond? If so, I could deliver it on Friday.”
“Where are you going now?”
“To collect Henrietta from her dancing lesson. I expect I’ll spend the rest of the day at the Vicarage.”
Hester suppressed a grin. Lowell had avoided his baby cousin like the plague only months ago, but he was now fascinated by her recent transformation into a very pretty young lady of fashion. She decided not to tease him, but said merely, “I have something but it isn’t quite ready yet. I’ll leave it in your room.”
“What is it this time? Another article?”
“No, it’s a new cipher they sent me, and I’ve finally cracked it. I’m rather pleased with myself, it was quite difficult. You see this line—”
“Don’t try to explain, Hes!” Lowell said hastily. “I’ll take your word for it. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Hester looked at him in some amusement. “Lowell, however do you convince Garimond that you’re the author of these communications? You must meet him occasionally.”
“Never. He’s a bit of a mysterious bird himself. But I don’t claim to be the author. I just deliver the envelope to an elderly cove at the Society’s office in St James’s Square.”
“Lucky for us! It saves a few explanations—especially as you are so determined not to be another mathematician!”
“Lord, Hes, I wouldn’t know how! But I’d give a lot to know what those clever codgers in St James’s Square would say if they knew Euclid was a woman.”
“It would give them all an apoplectic fit! But do take care not to let it out, Lowell—I don’t give a pin for their apoplectic fits, but it would mean an end to my fun, too.”
“I won’t,” her brother said confidently. “I like a bit of cloak-and-dagger work. When will the new stuff be ready?”
“It only wants a few corrections and then I’ll write it out in my Euclid hand. I’ll put it inside your overcoat before I go to bed.”
“Right-eeo.”
Lowell disappeared with a great deal of clattering down the stairs. Hester shook her head, then smiled fondly. He was a good brother.
She sat down at the bureau, took out her papers and put on her grandfather’s spectacles which she had found with his things, and which she now found useful for close work. They never left the attic. But after a few minutes she took them off again and sat back. She was finding it difficult to concentrate. It was Lowell’s fault for mentioning Dungarran’s name. That and the knowledge that she could not avoid seeing the man again in London…Lowell was right. She hadn’t told him everything. There was one scene that no one knew of. No one but herself and Dungarran. It wasn’t surprising that she had wished never to face him again. He had appeared to be so kind, so interested in her—until she had found him out. It had very nearly broken her heart to find that her idol had feet of such poor clay…And even then she had refused to accept it. Hester’s eyes strayed to the tiny window, but what she saw was not the green fields and trees of Northamptonshire but the drawing-rooms and streets of London in 1806…
Hester Perceval’s preparation for her début at seventeen was unusual. Her talents in the drawing-room were no more than adequate, but Mrs Guarding, a woman with advanced views on the education of women, had taken great pride in Hester’s gift for languages and her agile mind. She had encouraged Hester to believe that an intelligent, informed woman could create interest