A Most Lamentable Comedy (24 page)

Although, my lovely Caro, I do wish some, nay,
much
necessary and unnecessary obscenity with you, and thank God I have a roof to occupy me, for I truly believe I should go mad
[the letter ends here].

Lady Car
oline Elmhurst

‘M
y dear Philomena, you have saved my life!’ I clutch the fashion magazines and silk stockings she has bestowed upon me, and I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life before.

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Mrs Riley said you might be a little down in the dumps, so I thought of what would cheer me up and brought it to you.’ She turns to Will and James, who have accompanied her. ‘Now, boys, you may go to visit the kittens, and Will, do not let your brother eat or drink too much.’

As the boys are escorted from the drawing room by George, she turns to me with a smile. ‘I am so glad we are all friends again. I am dreadfully sorry I misjudged you so. Now, how do you get on with Thirlwell?’

I am rather shocked at such a question and consider carefully how to answer. If, for instance, I had been asked that question in my early days with Elmhurst, I could have given an inventory of which rooms, how many times, and which pieces of furniture had been broken as a result. I remember a regrettable incident with a harp and the ruin of some particularly expensive velvet curtains.

I clear my throat. ‘He is most generous and gentlemanly.’

‘Yes, he is a kind man despite his eccentricities.’ She peers at the book I have laid face down on the table. ‘What are you reading? Why,
Pride and Prejudice
. It is very good, is it not? I think Linsley is so like Mr Darcy.’

I privately thought he was rather more like Mr Wickham when I knew him, but I do not h to disillusion her. I decide to change the subject and ask her when her baby is due.

She obliges with a long monologue of how pleased she is about the arrival of the baby in November. Although her own mother and Mrs Riley want her to give birth in London with a fashionable accoucheur, she much prefers to give birth in the country. There is someone called Goody Prunewell on their estate who is indispensable in these matters. I shudder, thinking of a hag who has not washed in a decade.

‘Frankly, Caroline, my mother talks too much, although I love her dearly, and Mrs Riley is – she means well, but you know how overbearing she can be. I should much prefer to be at home with Inigo.’

Inigo as a man-midwife? What a hideous thought. I enquire after her health.

‘Oh, I am quite well now, although I was so sleepy at first I could scarce keep my eyes open. And weeping like a waterspout about nothing. It was dreadful, although I felt better by the time we were at Otterwell’s.’ She sees my expression. ‘Oh, Caro. Surely not. Was it . . .’

My dismay is because I see Mary in this description, not myself. I assure her that I do not expect to bring a bastard into the world, but do not voice my fear that a ducal bastard may be a problem later.

I am most grateful that she does not pursue the topic, and I suggest that we take a walk. Will has brought his kite and we can take advantage of the Heath, but a few steps from the house. I am glad of the exercise and company.

Young George is allowed time off from his kitchen duties to accompany us, and the three boys cheer as the kite bobs high in the sky. It is a clear day with a brisk wind that blows away the London smoke, affording us a fine view of the city.

Philomena chatters away quite agreeably and asks my opinion on her bonnet. I assure her it is most elegant.

‘You do seem out of sorts,’ she says suddenly, ‘and although Hampstead is considered a most salubrious spot, I think a change of air would do you good.’

‘I have no plans to travel at the moment.’ I sound rather curt, but too often I feel like a prisoner in my pretty little house in this pretty little village.

‘Oh, but Thirlwell has invited us to Northumberland later this month.’

I am quite relieved to hear this, as it means I shall not be expected to entertain his grace, but she continues, ‘And we shall all travel together and meet the Darrowbys there. I long to see Fanny again, and Caro, her wedding clothes are quite the thing; I am sure you will admire them.’

‘You mean
I
am to be one of the party?’

‘Of course!’ she cries. ‘I am sure it will be delightful.’

‘But – the Duke, I believe he has a Duchess?’

‘Yes, a most charming lady. You will—’ She claps her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh dear. I have spoken out of turn. Has not Thirlwell . . . Pay no attention to me, Caroline; for sure, my condition makes a dullard of me.’

‘Philomena, maybe you could pay me the compliment of not treating me like a fool, and telling me exactly what is going on. I suspect a great conspiracy is afoot, and I am at the centre of it.’

She looks at me. ‘I’m a dreadful liar, I know, and I shall not insult you by presenting you with an untruth. I can say no more. Believe me, we all wish you well.’

‘I trust this has nothing to do with Congrevance,’ I snap. ‘I shall be very angry if that is the case, for I assure you I want nothing more to do with him. You forget too, ma’am, that I am Thirwell’s mistress and thoroughly bought and paid for.’

I turn my back on her and walk away, feeling churlish and ill-used. The only possible reason Thirlwell might have for taking me up north to the bosom of his family is to test my newly acquired knowledge of sheep – that I doubt; or to engage me in some sort of amorous play with his duchess. That, too, given the gentleman’s behaviour so far, seems unlikely.

Cries of distress reach my ears, and I see that the boys are losing control of the kite, which is looking fit to plummet earthwards. I run towards them, shouting to them to reel it in, and run, run! I snatch up little James, who cannot keep up with the older boys, and our efforts send the kite aloft once more, as we come to a stop, laughing and breathless.

‘Would you like a go, Lady Caro?’

‘Oh yes, Will, I would indeed.’ I have not flown a kite in years. I have forgotten the pure exhilaration, the joy, as the kite tugs and kicks like a living creature and dances against the blue of the sky.

I laugh aloud. I have forgotten what it is to be happy.

I finish
Pride and Prejudice
and start on
Sense and Sensibility
; good lord, what a silly pair of dull girls, one so correct (she certainly deserves that tiresome clergyman) and the other forever spouting poetry. It reminds me of the other girls on the marriage mart when first I came out in society, which I suppose must be a tribute to the authoress. Yet I keep reading, for although I feared Marianne would marry that ancient military relic, who is obviously destined for Elinor, I am glad when Willoughby appears.

Beck visits to announce that his grace will dine again with me. This time, I decide, I shall play the seductress; surely then his grace will find it entirely inappropriate for me to travel to his estate. Possibly screaming very loudly in simulated ecstasy will persuade him that his
affaire
will not be so discreet beneath the ducal roof (unless he owns a huge house; I shall have to ask Mrs Tyson). But then if I scream loudly in this house, Mary, if she is awake, may rush down the stairs to rescue me.

Not tat I find the Duke desirable. Far from it. I doubt very much that he could make me scream. But he has rescued me from debtors’ prison and I owe the gentleman. It is my duty to give him value for money, and since I am sure no sheep are involved, I can discover his preferences. I know too that gentlemen after the act are in a state of extreme stupidity when they will agree to almost anything. At the appropriate moment I have decided that I shall remind his grace of my allowance and point out to him the extreme impropriety of taking his mistress to his country house. I am close enough to London; perhaps it is time to make some sort of entrée into society again.

I have by no means discarded the possibility of some sort of conspiracy; it is only that I cannot fathom what they have in mind.

So it is once again, primped, perfumed, wearing a gown that displays most of my bosom and with a vacuous smile, that I present myself to the Duke in the dining room. That is, I enter and curtsy – nothing so vulgar as arranging myself on the table splayed between the oysters and the asparagus as I did once for Elmhurst (needless to say, we dined alone that night).

If anything, he seems more nervous than before. During the first remove alone he knocks over a wine glass, breaks the butter dish and has to call for two more knives as his cutlery disappears beneath the table.

I ask him if he has received news from his estate on how his sheep do, and I fear he will bolt from the room, as terrified as he appears. He mutters an incomprehensible reply.

Eventually – as we eat a particularly delicious blackberry pie, he clears his throat and treats himself to one of his musical nose-blows. ‘I must beg your pardon, Caroline, for exposing you to my – my inebriation, on my last visit.’

What a fool, I think, as a glob of blackberry and cream drips from his spoon on to the ruffle of his shirt; and how unfortunate for his valet, as everyone knows blackberry stains are impossible to remove. ‘It is no matter, sir. I assure you I hardly noticed.’

‘You did not? But I—’

‘Well,
afterwards
you fell asleep, that is true. It is perfectly natural. Some gentlemen – particularly those blessed with
strong appetite
– need to gather their strength.’ What abominable rubbish, but my emphasised words do the trick.

He looks at me with absolute horror.

‘I shall leave you to your port, sir.’ I rise. ‘Pray, do not linger too long.’

He rises too, tipping over his water glass and sending his dessert plate on to the floor with a clatter. Tyson opens the door – I swear he winks at me – and it has no sooner closed than it opens again and the Duke runs towards me.

‘Caroline, tell me the truth. I did not – oh heavens, tell me I did not take advantage of you . . .’

I smile sweetly and pluck his napkin from his waistcoat. ‘You fell asleep, sir.’

We enter the drawing room and the Duke drops on to the sofa, looking so wretched I finally relent.

‘Thirlwell, I was teasing you, for heaven’s sake. It is the truth – you fell asleep while I was playing the pianoforte because you had drunk too much port.’

‘And I did not . . .’

‘No, you did nothing. But I am your mistress; what on earth is the matter with you? Although I suppose you should like to be awake when we—’

Fortunately at that moment Tyson enters with the tea tray.

I pour, splashing tea and leaves into the saucers, and fairly shoving a cupful at the Duke. ‘For God’s sake, why don’t you tell me what you are about?’

‘What do you mean, ma’am? I beg your pardon if I have done something to upset you – I mean, other than my regrettable lack of manners in falling asleep the other night.’

‘You obviously don’t want a mistress. So you’d better tell me why you are pretending you do.’

There is a tap at the door and Mary enters, a laundry list in her hand. ‘A letter arrived for you, milady.’

‘No, it did not. Go away.’

She does.

Thirlwell looks at me, brow creased. ‘Why did your maid—’

‘It doesn’t matter. Now, if you please, explain yourself.’

He sighs and places his teacup out of harm’s way. ‘Well, as I explained before, there is a wager—’

‘Nonsense.’

We glare at each other like a pair of bulls, or as Thirlwell would most likely prefer, a pair of rams. It is time to try a different approach. He is a dreadful liar, which means he probably expects only the truth from others. He is surely ill at ease being harangued by a woman (even if he deserves it), for he expects women to flutter around in a pathetic, female sort of way and concur with male opinion.

I produce a handkerchief from my bosom and dab at my eyes.

‘Oh, sir.’ I allow a tremulous quiver to affect my voice. ‘This is very upsetting.’

‘My dear Caroline . . .’ He actually pats my hand. Excellent.

‘I do beg your pardon, sir.’

‘No, no. It is I who should beg yours.’

I refill his teacup, allowing my hand to shake. ‘I have behaved in a most unwomanly fashion.’

‘Do not concern yourself.’

I notice that he does not rush to contradict me.

‘Perhaps I should play the pianoforte for a little. I am sure it would calm me.’

‘An excellent notion. Pray proceed.’

Of course, playing the pianoforte is something he associates with female docility. Place me in front of an instrument, an easel or an embroidery frame, and I shall become a simpering idiot.

Eyes downcast, I seat myself at the instrument and begin the sonata that sent him to sleep so effectively before, playing softly in the hopes that my frequent wrong notes will be hidden.

Good. He is actually smiling as he listens, and although I know it cannot possibly be my playing – more likely it is satisfaction that I am behaving as a woman should – I know he has let his guard down.

‘So,’ I say in my most dulcet tones as I pause between movements, ‘how is Mr Nicholas Congrevance?’

He sits bolt upright. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You do know the gentleman, do you not?’

He recovers faster than I would have thought. ‘Why, you’re mistaken, ma’am, although the name is familiar. Was not that the name of one of the gentlemen in the play?’ A credible attempt at a lie for someone who is mostly honest, I think.

‘Oh, how foolish of me!’ I let a girlish giggle escape. ‘I am quite confused. Why, I must be the one who overindulged in wine tonight.’

Absurd as this is, he accepts it, and his rigid stance relaxes just a little. I continue to play, but inside I seethe with rage.

You despicable sheep-lover, I’ll show you Caroline Elmhurst is not to be trifled with.

I finish the piece, and he applauds as I rise and curtsy. I have to move fast as he is about to stand, ever the gentleman, while I am on my feet. I bound over to the sofa and hurl myself into his lap, landing astride so he cannot tip me off too easily.