A Most Lamentable Comedy (6 page)

While Will fishes, I apply myself to learning my part – now reduced almost to the point of incomprehensibility, although Otterwell claims he plans to write any supplemental lines to explain exactly why the lovers are in the wood. Doubtless it is Oberon who will intone these amendments to the Bard. I wonder how long it will take for him and Mrs Gibbons to make enemies of each other (I cannot help it; I have a natural inclination towards mischief). Occasionally Will exclaims that he is sure a fish is biting, and we both hold our breath, watching the line, until we decide that it must have become bored and gone elsewhere, or that we need fresh bait. He seems quite content to concentrate on the fishing itself rather than be concerned about the catch.

We dine on bread and cheese, and after a while Will yawns and rub his eyes. ‘You will look after my line, won’t you, Lady Caro, if I go to sleep? I don’t think I shall, though. But if I did, you would wake me if we got a bite?’

‘Certainly.’

Will yawns again, and settles down to sleep, his curly head in my lap.

It is very pleasant beneath this tree, green and gold light filtering through the trees from the blue sky above. Fairly sure here are no fish to be had, I reel in Will’s line and throw some crumbs into the water. The ducks are cautious at first, then peck greedily at them, and circle, expecting more. There is a flash of azure as a kingfisher flies past.

The weight of the sleeping child on my lap is surprisingly comforting. I cannot say I am one of those women who dote, or claim to dote, on children, but I find them refreshingly short on guile and prejudice. I had always expected to breed, but the honour was denied me in matrimony (and fortunately outside of it, too). However, if I had been so careless as to bear Linsley’s child, he or she would have been of almost Will’s age, a thought that makes me unaccountably melancholy.

My reverie is interrupted by the crack of a foot on a branch, and an irate voice.

‘What are you doing, Lady Elmhurst?’

Lady Caroline Elmhurst

I
don’t bother to turn my head. ‘Fishing, Mrs Gibbons. Pray calm yourself.’

She moves into my line of vision. ‘I beg your pardon, I did not mean to be rude, but when I found Will was not in the nursery with his brother, I was worried. Mr Congrevance mentioned you and he were to go fishing, so I thought I should make sure all was well.’

‘I do not eat children, Mrs Gibbons.’

‘Of course not. I thought you might find his company irksome after a while. You cannot be used to the ways of small boys.’

‘On the contrary, he is a good companion.’

She looks pleased at my words – not my intent, it is true – and smiles at her son, leaning down to stroke his hair. ‘I think so too, but then, as his mother, I am prejudiced.’

I wonder if she will wake Will and take him away, but instead she peers across the lake and waves. ‘There’s Philomena and James. Over here!’ she calls.

Mrs Gibbons leaves me to confer with Mrs Linsley, and I hear a (mostly) whispered conversation. The parts I do hear are not encouraging.

‘I assure you, Fanny, that if Lady Elmhurst takes your son fishing, it can be with no good intentions.’

‘Oh come, let us try to be a little more charitable towards her. What on earth could she possibly hope to gain from such an act? In anyone else I would think it exceedingly kind.’

‘Kind! You don’t know her as I do. In London, when first I met Linsley . . .’

Eventually Mrs Linsley approaches and drops a barely civil stiff half-curtsy to me.

I acknowledge her with a nod of my head. Heavens, it is like a pair of cats circling each other, tails fluffed out, and I wait to see which of us will yowl first.

It is James who breaks up the frigid atmosphere by barking at his half-brother, and then tugging at his hair in an attempt to wake him. Will whimpers and bats him off, falling back into sleep again and drooling on my skirts.

‘Have a care,’ Philomena Linsley scolds, pulling her son away. ‘I am sure Lady Elmhurst does not want you climbing over her.’

‘It is no matter, Mrs Linsley.’

An uncomfortable silence ensues, broken by Mrs Linsley. ‘Lady Elmhurst, I do not mean to be impertinent, but what have you done to your bonnet?’

‘I used it to carry the bait,’ I say.

‘Oh. I think your maid should be able to clean it.’ She hesitates. ‘I have a silk flower that would look very pretty on the crown, if you would care to have it.’

‘Why, thank you, Mrs Linsley. You are very kind.’ I take it as a friendly gesture. If I ruin a bonnet I generally buy another. I suppose Mrs. Linsley is one of those women who enjoys picking things apart and retrimming them; and I may have to become one of those women from necessity if I cannot succeed with Congrevance.

I invite the two women to sit and offer them some cider. It is weak enough stuff, but I wonder if it contributed to Will’s sleepiness; and if so, whether it will make Mrs Gibbons and Mrs Linsley unbend a little.

‘Lord, it’s hot,’ Mrs Gibbons says after a while, and strips off her stockings to dangle her feet in the water. ‘Lady Elmhurst, give me that child so you may take your stockings off, if you wish.’

I hoist the sleeping Will on to her lap and remove my stockings, rolling them fast so the other women cannot see how darned they are. The water is cool and delightful, and tiny fishes dart around our toes.

‘What an excellent idea!’ As Mrs Linsley takes off her stockings I notice her garters are red ribbons with seed pearls and silver thread – surprisingly expensive and whorish for a respectable married lady. Mr Linsley’s tastes have not changed much, it seems. ‘Oh look, there are the gentlemen.’

Sure enough, on the other side of the lake, Linsley, Darrowby and Congrevance stroll, coats unbuttoned and neckcloths loosened, and each carrying a stone bottle like the one that holds our cider. They wave back and in a few moments have joined us.

‘Water nymphs, I declare,’ Darrowby says.

‘The three graces.’ Congrevance bows.

‘Six ankles.’ Inigounbsley. No, he has not changed much.

At the sound of his voice, Will stirs and jumps to his feet. ‘Papa! Papa, may we swim? Lady Caro and I have had such fun. She and I have been fishing, but we didn’t catch anything, and Papa, Lady Caro’s brother is in India and sticks pigs.’

‘A swim? What do you think, gentlemen?’

‘I swim too, Papa,’ says James from his mother’s lap, proving he has the power of speech as well as that of barking.

‘Very well,’ Mrs Linsley says. ‘Inigo, you must be very careful. Hold on to him all the time, and—’

‘Don’t fret, my love.’ Inigo grabs his younger son as he scrambles towards the water, eager to immerse himself. ‘Come here, James. Will, don’t take your trousers off in front of the ladies; it’s not polite.’

‘We don’t have any towels,’ Mrs Linsley says in a worried tone.

‘Oh, they’ll just have to sun themselves,’ Mrs Gibbons murmurs. ‘It is fortunate indeed that it is so warm.’

The gentlemen and boys meanwhile have modestly removed themselves behind another tree to disrobe, and I must admit that I await with happy anticipation the sight of Congrevance stripped. The subject has been on my mind ever since last night, if not since I first met him.

‘Lady Elmhurst,’ Mrs Linsley says, ‘I should be most honoured if you would address me by my Christian name.’

‘I too,’ says Mrs Gibbons.

‘Oh. Thank you. And I am Caroline.’ Of course we know each other’s names, but we must go through this curious bit of formality; besides, it passes the time until we can ogle the gentlemen. By now we have appropriated their bottles of cider, which have been laced with brandy and are quite potent.

There is a splash as the first gentleman dives into the water. He emerges shaking water from his head, then swims with slow, strong strokes towards the tiny island, little more than a willow tree clinging to a speck of land. It is Darrowby, followed by Inigo with James clinging to his shoulders, and Will, who shrieks with joy, paddling beside his father.

‘Watch me swim, Mama and Mrs Philomena!’

Congrevance surfaces a little ahead of them, sleek as a seal in the water, and to my disappointment swims to the side of the island and disappears from sight. Linsley and Darrowby arrive at the willow that hangs over the water, where Linsley unloads his son, who joins Will in playing with stones and sticks on a tiny, gravelled sort of beach.

We ladies modestly avert our eyes – not daring to meet each other’s gaze in case we burst out laughing – until the two gentlemen are landed, their backs turned to us with the utmost modesty before they take shelter behind theidth=. I am happy to say that when I look again, Congrevance has rounded the island and is wading towards dry land.

Goodness!

I almost drop my bottle of cider.

‘Well, well,’ Fanny Gibbons says. ‘There’s proof of the theory that a big nose portends size elsewhere. And in cool water, too.’

‘He has big hands too,’ I say, swigging cider. I should know. ‘Big, beautiful hands. I daresay big feet as well.’

‘You mean that . . . ?’ Philomena asks.

Fanny whispers in her ear, and she giggles.

I do find unclothed men interesting, I must admit. ‘Which one do you think has the best arse?’ I ask before I can stop myself. Oh, horrors. Surely, even after their overtures of friendship, they will cut me for the duration of the visit.

‘Oh, that’s obvious. Little James, of course,’ Philomena says fondly. ‘Look at him – he’s like a little peach.’

‘I used to nibble on Will’s arse when he was a baby, it was so round and sweet,’ Fanny says. She sounds quite foxed. ‘Darrowby’s is most . . . handsome,’ she continues. ‘It’s a pity he can’t afford a better tailor.’

So she’s not his mistress after all – or not yet, although there’s something between them. But I stare at the island, hoping the men – or, to be honest, Congrevance – will find a reason to emerge from their leafy bower. We can see them vaguely through the greenery, and they seem to be having a spirited conversation, gesturing towards the far shore of the lake. The occasional word reaches my ears . . .
barley
. . .
oats
. . .
manure
. . .

‘Bah,’ says Philomena, ‘they’re talking about crop rotation again. Congrevance and Inigo bored us to death about it at the picnic. I was surprised how much Congrevance knows about land stewardship, for all he’s been abroad so long.’

Meanwhile, Will and James splash and giggle at the water’s edge like a couple of little otters. At one point Linsley emerges to settle some dispute about the ownership of a particular stone, and we three hypocrites avert our eyes, talking of the weather with great interest in loud voices for the gentlemen’s benefit.

‘Mr Congrevance is a very pleasant gentleman,’ Philomena says when it is safe again. ‘He knows a lot about bonnets and Paris fashions.’

‘No, he doesn’t, dear heart,’ says Fanny. ‘He knows a lot about pretty women, which is why he talked to you in the first place.’

‘I was not flirting with him!’ Philomena takes an indignant swig from her bottle and chokes a little. ‘I am a married woman.’

‘You ke lirting,’ Fanny says, patting her hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re allowed to flirt with a gentleman as handsome as Congrevance.’

Congrevance was flirting with her? After kissing me for fifteen minutes – that quarter-hour of vice – the night before? How dare he!

‘He flirted with me too, under the guise of sensible talk about the theatre,’ Fanny adds. ‘And helped me most gallantly with my shawl when it caught on a branch. Don’t you think he’s a dreadful flirt, Caroline?’

‘I—’ And at that moment, the gentleman in question steps from behind the willow and plunges into the water, allowing me to confirm once more the theory of matching large extremities. In addition, his skin has a faint golden hue, his chest sports a delightful dense curl of hair in the centre, and he has long shapely legs and is as lean and muscled all over as a greyhound. ‘Oh!’

‘We may possibly have a shower of rain in the next few days.’ Fanny almost chokes with laughter.

‘Avert your eyes, ladies,’ Linsley calls out with great good cheer. ‘We’re coming back.’

‘Indeed, this good weather cannot hold for much longer.’ Philomena dissolves into giggles. ‘What do you think, Caroline?’

‘Oh. I think – I think there will be big . . . big . . . clouds,’ I gasp, mortified, as I hear some male chuckles.

I may be overcome with hopeless lust, and half foxed on the fortified cider, but there is one thing I have noticed about Congrevance that has me puzzled – on the pale gold of his skin, the sunlight picked up the gleam of thin silver lines across his back. It’s something I should never expect to see on a gentleman, for such scars can only be from a flogging.

I am aware that Congrevance may not be all – or he may be more than – he has allowed. And I wish to find out more.

Mr Nicholas Congrevance

H
aving been thoroughly ogled by the three ladies, we gentlemen return to civilised manners and our clothes, although the two little boys are allowed to run around naked, squealing and laughing. I must admit that I am surprised at how well the three women seem to get on together now – part of it must be attributed to the empty bottles, of course – and take the matter up with Linsley as we stroll back towards the house.

He is more discreet than I would have suspected. ‘Well, Fanny will like anyone who is kind to Will, for some look down on him because he’s a bastard. And Philomena is the sweetest woman in the world.’ He’s quite genuine in his expression, even though they have been married some years.

‘But why was Lady Caroline so coldly reced when she arrived?’

‘Some blame her for Elmhurst’s death, and she has a . . . certain reputation. Much of it is vicious gossip, for she has been wrongly accused of everything from murder to adultery—’

‘Murder?’

‘Good God, no. The circumstances of Elmhurst’s death were unfortunate, but Caro held no blame. However, now I think of it, I’m not too sure about the adultery, for she is of the
ton
, but . . .’ He stops and taps me on the shoulder in a friendly sort of way. ‘Listen, Congrevance. I’m fond of her in a way, although I found her a great deal of trouble during our liaison. I wouldn’t like to see her injured or slandered.’