A Civil Contract (17 page)

Under their heavy lids his penetrating eyes looked down into hers. A smile crept into them; he said softly: ‘But I shall be delighted to come, Lady Lynton! An excellent scheme! Parties composed of such intimate friends as the Deverils and the Oversleys are always better for a little leaven, are they not?’ The smile deepened in his eyes as he saw the wary look in hers, but he said no more, only bowing and then turning away to tell Brough that they must not detain the carriage longer.

In another minute the gentlemen had ridden on, and Jenny, as a sudden apprehension smote her, demanded: ‘He is a bachelor, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, of course. He’s a cousin of Rockhill’s, you know. Lady Adversane is Rockhill’s –’

‘No, no, not Brough! Rockhill!’

‘Oh! No, not a bachelor. He –’

‘Oh, my goodness!’ exclaimed Jenny, dismayed. ‘I invited him to dine with us next week! Whatever must he think of me? As though I didn’t know better! Oh, dear!’

‘Stupid!’ Julia said, laughing. ‘He’s a
widower
!’

‘Thank heaven!’ said Jenny devoutly.

Julia glanced curiously at her. ‘What made you invite him? I didn’t know you were acquainted with him.’

‘I’m not – well, barely, at all events! He said he hoped to see Lady Lynton when she comes to town, so I asked him to dine. I told him it was to be quite informal. Your papa and mama are coming, and you too, I hope, for Lydia will be there, you know.’

‘I?’ gasped Julia. ‘Oh,
no
! You cannot ask that of me!’

Casting a warning glance at the back of the coachman, Jenny said: ‘Well, I own it won’t be a very lively party, but I mean to invite Brough as well, so I trust it won’t be such a dead bore as you think! I wish I knew some more gentlemen! But Adam’s friends are all in France, so there’s only Cousin Osbert, unless – Would your brother come, do you think?’

‘Jenny, I won’t, I won’t!’ said Julia, under her breath.

‘Well, if that’s so Lord Rockhill will think it a regular take-in, for I told him you’d be there, which was why he accepted.’

Except for reiterating that she would not come, Julia said no more, but lapsed into pensive dejection.

At home she was not so forbearing. The only effect Lady Oversley’s entreaties had upon her was to cast her into agitation; and a fit of hysterics might have been the outcome had not her father come into the room, demanding to know what the devil was the matter now. Upon being told, he favoured his wife and daughter with a very tolerable impersonation of a Roman parent, announcing with such unusual sternness that Julia would obey him that she positively quailed, and ventured on no more contumacious a response than an imploring: ‘Oh, Papa, pray don’t make me go!’

‘Not another word!’ commanded his lordship. ‘I am very much displeased with you, Julia, and if you try my patience any further you will be sorry for it!’

At these terrible words both ladies dissolved into tears. His lordship, finding his rôle rather beyond his power to maintain, beat a dignified retreat, frowning heavily enough to lend colour to Lady Oversley’s statement that Papa was very, very angry. The thought that she, who had always been Papa’s pet, was now in his black books proved to be too much for Julia’s fortitude. She settled down to cry in good earnest, and so despairingly that Papa had to be recalled to soothe her with assurances of his continued regard. As soon as she knew herself to be still loved she grew calmer, and when he said that he sympathized with her much more than she guessed she was so passionately grateful that she was ready to promise to do anything he wished.

When the news of the projected dinner-party was broken to Adam he was almost as much dismayed, but concealed it better. Jenny, at work on the first of a set of chair-covers, asked him placidly if he thought she might invite Mr Oversley, and he replied, in an indifferent voice: ‘You may do so, of course, but I should doubt whether he’ll come. If I know Charlie, he’ll think it by far too slow!’

He was right, but Mr Oversley did grace the party with his reluctant presence, because his father, using none of the diplomacy he found necessary when dealing with his daughter, told him that he must.

‘What, drive Tab to the Lyntons? No, dash it, sir – !’ protested Mr Oversley, revolted by the thought of this family expedition.

‘Nonsense! If Jenny wants you she shall have you! I daresay she needs you to make up her numbers.’

Mr Oversley, who had been upon the strut for over a year, directed a look of pained reproach at his parent, and said: ‘Much obliged to her!’

Lord Oversley laughed, but told him not to be a coxcomb. ‘The thing is, Charlie, she has hit on this way of bringing your sister about, after that shocking business at Nassington House, and mighty good-natured of her it is!’

‘Here, I say!’ exclaimed Mr Oversley, alarmed. ‘Julia ain’t going off into a faint, is she? Because if there’s to be any of that kind of bobbery –’

‘No, no, she has promised to behave just as she ought!’ said his father reassuringly.

The dowager, attended by her daughter and her dresser, reached London in excellent time on the day appointed, for she came post, her previous journey having helped her to overcome her dread of strange postilions. Mr Chawleigh would heartily have approved of the cavalcade which set out from Fontley, for two of the grooms rode with the chaise, and it was followed by a coach carrying my lady’s footman and a number of trunks and portmanteaux, and also by a fourgon loaded with such movables as the Dowager considered her own and had removed from Fontley.

She arrived in a wilting condition, but Jenny was on the watch, and as soon as she saw the chaise she called to Adam to go down immediately to welcome his mother. He reached the street in time to support her as she totteringly descended on to the flagway. She was gratified by this attention, and uttered: ‘Dear one!’ as he kissed first her hand and then her cheek. She then, and in less fond accents, said: ‘Lydia
dear
!’ as that damsel ruthlessly hugged Adam.

Adam led her into the house, where the first object to attract her apprehensive gaze was the Egyptian lamp at the foot of the staircase. She drew in her breath sharply. ‘Good heavens! Ah, yes, I see! A female form, with sphinxes. Dear me!’

‘It is a lamp, Mama,’ said Adam defensively.

‘Is it, dearest? No doubt Jenny found the stair ill-lit. I was never conscious of it myself, but – And are those strange alabaster bowls lamps too?’

‘Yes, Mama, they are! And here is Jenny, coming to welcome you!’

He was relieved to see that Jenny was more successful than he had been in dealing with his mother. She greeted her with proper solicitude, and said that it was no wonder she should be feeling done-up.

‘I am afraid I am a sad, troublesome guest,’ sighed the Dowager. ‘I am so much pulled by all I have gone through that I am fit for nothing but my bed.’

‘Well, then,’ said Jenny, ‘you shall come up directly, ma’am, and get between sheets, and have your dinner sent to you on a tray.’

‘So kind!’ murmured the Dowager. ‘Just a bowl of soup, perhaps!’

Lydia, who had been listening in strong indignation to these melancholy plans, exclaimed: ‘Mama, you can’t go to bed the instant you set foot inside the house! Why, you said yourself, when Mrs Mitcham came to Fontley, that nothing was more odious than a visitor who arrived only to be ill, and was for ever wanting glasses of hot water, or thin gruel!’

‘Oh, fiddle!’ said Jenny. ‘It’s to be hoped your mama don’t think herself a
visitor
in her son’s house! She shall do whatever she chooses. Do you come upstairs, ma’am, and be comfortable!’

The Dowager mellowed. She had had the amiable intention of frustrating any festive scheme which might have been devised for her entertainment by retiring to her bedroom in a state of exhaustion; but as soon as she was entreated to do exactly what she liked she began to think that if she rested for an hour she might feel sufficiently restored to join her family at the dinner-table. She allowed Jenny to escort her upstairs; and although it naturally caused her a pang not to be going to her ‘own’ room, she found that such careful provisions for her comfort had been made in the handsomely furnished apartment allotted to her that her melancholy abated. By the time she had been settled on a cushioned day-bed, and had been revived with tea and toast, she was wonderfully in charity with Jenny, and told her that rather than disappoint her dear ones she would make an effort to overcome her fatigue sufficiently to come downstairs in time for dinner.

Meanwhile, Lydia, having peeped into the dining-room, and exclaimed, in awed accents: ‘Goodness, how
rich
!’ had gone up to the drawing-room with her brother. She paused on the threshold, and stood at gaze, not saying anything for a full minute. Then she looked doubtfully at Adam. His eyes twinkled. ‘Well?’

‘May I say what I think, or – or not?’

‘You may, but you needn’t. I know what you think.’

‘It’s the
stripes
!’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be
nearly
as bad if you took them away – though I must own I don’t like that very peculiar sofa much. Those horrid little legs look like some sort of an animal.’

‘Reptile. They are crocodile-legs.’

‘
Crocodile?
’ Lydia inspected them more closely, and went into a peal of laughter. ‘Yes, they are! I thought you were trying to hoax me. But why? Oh, yes,
I
see! It’s the Egyptian mode, isn’t it? I know it’s all the crack, but I don’t think it’s very comfortable, do you?’

‘I think it’s detestable,’ he answered, laughing too. ‘Wait until you see Jenny’s preposterous bed! She didn’t choose this stuff, you know: it was her father.’

‘Poor Mr Chawleigh! I expect he thinks it’s the very first style of elegance. Mama won’t, you know. Besides, she doesn’t like Mr Chawleigh. I do, even if he is a funny one!’ She heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, Adam, I wish Mama hadn’t settled on Bath! If she had decided on a house in London I could have borne it better, for I should have had you to talk to when I felt quite
desperate
, which, I’m sorry to say, I frequently do.’

‘Has she been very trying?’ he asked sympathetically.

‘Yes. And I find that I
cannot
be a comfort to her. Am I very unnatural, Adam?’ He shook his head, smiling. ‘Well, Mama says I am, and sometimes I fear I may be, because I am growing to dislike Charlotte as much as I dislike Maria! Would you have believed it possible that I could?
Charlotte!
’

He laughed. ‘Poor Charlotte! But you don’t really, you know.’

She eyed him somewhat ominously. ‘No! But I shall if
you
are going to call her
poor
Charlotte too!’

‘I take it back!’ he said hastily. ‘I never said it!’ Her dimples quivered into being, but she said gloomily: ‘It’s such humbug! Mama talks about her as if she were dead – except that she hasn’t
yet
called her her
sainted
Charlotte. And how she can do so, when she
knows
Charlotte is as happy as a grig – ! We have had a letter from her, you know, sent from York, where they were staying for a few days.’

‘No, I didn’t know, but I’m delighted to hear that she’s so happy.’

‘Adam,’ disclosed Lydia, in an awed voice, ‘she says that Lambert partakes of all her ideas and sentiments!’

‘Good God! I mean, how – how fortunate!’

‘They shared solemn and elevating thoughts in the Cathedral.’

‘No, they didn’t,’ replied Adam instantly. ‘Charlotte had solemn and elevating thoughts, and Lambert said: “Ay, very true! By Jove, yes!” Lydia, you wretch, you are making me as bad as you are yourself! Be quiet!’

She chuckled, but had to wink away a tear. ‘Oh, if
only
Maria hadn’t died! Then I shouldn’t have been obliged to be a comfort to Mama, or have gone to Bath, even!’

He gave her a hug. ‘I wish you needn’t have gone, but I think you must, at any rate for a time. Try to bear it! If Mama doesn’t bring you to London herself next spring, would you like to come to us, and let Jenny present you?’

The hug was returned with interest; Lydia cried rapturously: ‘Yes, of all things! Aunt Nassington spoke of bringing me out, but I would far prefer to be with you. If Jenny would be agreeable?’

As Jenny, who came into the room at that moment, said at once that nothing would afford her greater pleasure, Lydia’s spirits bounded up, and she said, in a burst of confidence, that she hoped Mama would decide to remain in Bath during the spring.

‘Outrageous brat! Take her away, Jenny! By the bye, don’t neglect to show her your bathroom! She’ll like it!’

Lydia, in fact, was entranced by it, and scandalized Martha Pinhoe by declaring her determination to use it. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you don’t, Jenny? Why, it is a beautiful bath! All these mirrors too! You may see yourself whichever way you look while you’re in the bath.’

‘Well, that wouldn’t be my notion of a high treat!’ remarked Jenny. ‘However, you’re welcome to use it if you choose.’

‘No, that she is not, my lady!’ declared Miss Pinhoe. ‘I’m surprised at you, saying such a thing! We all know what kind of creatures they are that sit in their baths with looking-glasses all round! The idea!’

It was evident that Lydia was exempt from this universal knowledge; and as it was also evident that she was going to demand enlightenment of Miss Pinhoe, Jenny hurriedly took her away to her own room. Lydia approved of this too, exclaiming: ‘Why, it’s all new, except for that chest, and the little chair by the window! I must say, it’s a great improvement: it was dreadfully shabby before!’

‘Do you like it?’ Jenny asked anxiously. ‘I haven’t very good taste myself – not that I had anything to do with furnishing the house: Papa did it, while we were at Rushleigh, to – to surprise us. Only I’m afraid he made it all rather too – too
grand
!’

‘For my part,’ said Lydia, ‘I shouldn’t care a rush for that. How truly splendid to have a father who gives you such sumptuous surprises!’ She hesitated, and then said shyly: ‘He won’t change Fontley, will he? Not
too
much?’

‘No, no, I promise you it shan’t be changed at all!’ Jenny replied, her colour rushing up.

‘I don’t mean that this house isn’t very elegant!’ said Lydia hastily. ‘Only that it wouldn’t suit Fontley so well!’

It was the opinion of the Dowager, when she descended to the drawing-room, that the style favoured by Mr Chawleigh would suit no house; and at the first opportunity she expressed this opinion to Adam with great freedom. He found himself defending even the green stripes. He said doggedly that stripes were of the first stare. ‘Such a very
vulgar
shade!’ said the Dowager, with a shudder. ‘
Far
too much bullion on the curtains too! Alas, when I remember how this room once appeared I can’t but grieve at such a transformation!’

He was goaded into retorting: ‘It could hardly appear the same, ma’am, once you had removed from it everything but the carpet and three of the pictures!’

This unfilial rejoinder wounded her so deeply that not only were the ghosts of Stephen and Maria evoked, but she said, when Jenny told her of the small party arranged for her pleasure, that no doubt dear Jenny had forgotten that she was in deep mourning.

‘As though any of us could forget it, when she is positively
dripping
black crape!’ said Lydia. ‘But don’t be in a worry, Jenny! She won’t retire to her room, I promise you!’

Jenny was obliged to be satisfied with this assurance, but her anxiety was not really allayed until the Dowager came downstairs just before eight o’clock arrayed in black silk, and with Adam’s mantilla pinned over a Spanish comb (also his gift) set in her fair locks.

‘Oh, how pretty you look!’ Jenny exclaimed involuntarily. ‘I beg your pardon! I couldn’t resist!’

‘Dearest child!’ murmured the Dowager indulgently.

‘I take great credit to myself for knowing that nothing would become you better than a mantilla,’ said Adam. ‘Perfect, Mama!’

‘Foolish boy!’ she said, rapidly mellowing. ‘I thought it right to make the effort, since you have invited these people particularly to meet me. I daresay, if you were to mention that I have a fatiguing journey before me tomorrow, they will not stay very late.’

This did not sound propitious, but it was misleading. From the moment that Rockhill, after holding her hand while he gazed admiringly at her countenance, carried it to his lips with old-fashioned courtesy, the Dowager’s enjoyment of the party was assured.

The arrival of the Oversleys coincided with that of Brough; and in the confusion of greetings no one noticed that Adam and Julia stood handlocked for longer than was customary, or heard Julia say: ‘This was not of my contrivance!’

‘Nor of mine,’ he returned, in a low voice. ‘You know that I cannot,
must
not say to you –’ He checked himself, and pressed her hand before releasing it. ‘Only tell me that you are better! The anguish of that moment, at my aunt’s, will haunt me all my life, I think.’

‘Oh, don’t let it do so! I shan’t mortify you again, I promise you! We shall grow accustomed, they tell me – forget that there was ever anything but friendship between us. I must wish you happy.
Can
you be?’ A tiny headshake answered her. She smiled faintly. ‘No, your
heart
is not fickle. I’ll wish you content only.’

She turned from him as she spoke to meet Lydia, who came up to her, saying: ‘I am so glad to see you, Julia! What an age it has been! The things I have to tell you!’

Adam moved away to mingle with his other guests, only a slight rigidity of countenance betraying that he was labouring under stress. Lydia, who had a schoolgirl’s admiration of Julia, was chattering away to her, and Julia seemed to be interested and amused. Adam heard her silvery laugh, and was thankful; for joined with the pain of being so close to her was the unacknowledged dread that she might allow her sensibility to overcome her upbringing, and precipitate them all into embarrassment. He wondered if Jenny, placidly talking to Lord Oversley, had any conception of the ordeal to which she had exposed both himself and Julia. She appeared unconscious; and when she chanced to meet his eyes there was no suspicion in hers, but only a little, friendly smile. She seemed to be enjoying herself; and although this set her poles apart from him it relieved another of his anxieties: at his aunt’s assembly, and at Lady Bridgewater’s, her shyness had made her an awkward guest, but in her own house it was otherwise. There would be no need for him to keep a watchful eye on her, ready to help her over conversational hurdles, or to nudge her into a hostess’s duties: she was quiet, but she was quite assured, because she had been mistress of her father’s house for years, and was accustomed to entertaining his friends.

The dinner which was presently served was excellent; and since there were several topics of immediate public interest to be discussed conversation did not flag. Chief amongst these was the betrothal of the Princess Charlotte to the Prince of Orange, for so persistent were the rumours that the Princess had cried off that it was naturally a subject of paramount interest. Various reasons for the rupture were suggested; but Rockhill, who, being one of the Carlton House set, was probably better informed than anyone else present, said that he believed that the rift had arisen from the question of domicile: the Prince expected his bride to live in the Low Countries; the Princess, standing as she did in direct succession to the English throne, was determined to remain in her own country. This resolution, after some discussion, was approved; but it remained for Jenny to say that it seemed strange that the Regent should be willing to send his only child packing to foreign parts.