An Accomplished Woman (44 page)

‘If this suggestion is
the fruit of observation, Mr Durrant, I can only call it observation very
ill-employed. It is a warning, indeed, but a warning against self-opinion. You
can have drawn such a conclusion only from a belief that whatever notion enters
your head must be right, no matter how contradictory the evidence. And I am
putting the kindest construction possible on what I am otherwise inclined to
regard as an insult.’

‘Insult? To whom? I
certainly mean no insult to you. As to the evidence, it is there to be seen —
has been for some days. Mr Allardyce seems strongly inclining to you: he seeks
you out, he invites tête-à-têtes, and altogether there is an earnestness, a
significance—’

‘Now, Mr Durrant,’ she
said, unable to forbear a rueful smile, ‘here is the unhappy result of a little
knowledge being grossly misinterpreted. It is like the blind man feeling the
elephant’s tail. Oh, dear! I hardly know what to say now. To give you the right
interpretation would be to break a confidence, which, as yet, I do not feel
able to do. But I fear I answered you rather too sharply, and am sorry for it.
I can only say that your time in Bath has been ill spent if you have not
learned the arts of gossip and innuendo, and realised that they must work upon
some small foundation of truth.’

His expression was
watchful, but calm. ‘Have it as you please. I should be glad to be wrong, for
everyone’s sake.’ He bowed and left her.

Watching him go, she had
an urge to renew her own warning to him; for anyone who could make such a blind
error was surely at grave risk of miscarrying in their own affairs. But the
heat of anger had not quite cooled. Mr Allardyce’s attentions to her . . .!
There she had been, the perfect chaperon, diligent on behalf of her charge —
and there had been Mr Durrant thinking— Well, she had done with what he was
thinking. It seemed likely to sow new seeds of discomfort, and she must thrust
it from her mind.

Another dance was
beginning: she saw Hugh Hanley smile his readiness to partner her, but she was
too irritated to respond. A little more responsibility on that young man’s
part, a little less stubbornness on his uncle’s, and much of this
unpleasantness might have been avoided to begin with. She walked about,
impatiently refusing several introductions; and there was nothing in the sight
of the set to please her. Mr Durrant dancing again with Juliet — to be sure,
let him; but no Phoebe — this would not do. Mrs Allardyce had gathered her to
her side again. Very well in a way, but Phoebe did not come to a ball to be
talked at by an old woman. Mr Allardyce should see that, and whisk her off.
There was such a thing as being too delicate.

The first interval
coming, and the heat worse, she went out to the Octagon Room in search of a
little air; and finding the outer door standing open for late arrivals, stood
there for some time looking out at the wedge of starred sky, drinking the
breeze, and politely rebuffing several hints that she would catch a chill or
worse from the rheums of the night air. It was no chill she felt, but a certain
oppression that no amount of freshness could relieve: it proceeded from a place
in her own mind, which very unusually for her she was reluctant to examine.

‘Lydia! Oh, Lydia, there
you are.’

Phoebe: high-coloured,
excited — perhaps flustered.

‘What is the matter?’

‘Oh, nothing — only I wondered
where you had gone to. Mr Allardyce did too. I was going to look for you. But
then — oh, Lydia, I must tell you — I do not think I can tell anyone else. I
said I would go and look in the cloakroom — and Mrs Allardyce said that I was
to wait for her there, as my hair was coming down a little and she would help
me with it, which was excessively kind in her, was it not? But never mind — I
had just entered the cloakroom, and I saw you were not there — I thought there
was nobody there, but I heard voices, and I recognised Miss Allardyce’s, and
then Mr Durrant’s. Oh, this was shocking of me, but I could not help it: I was
still behind the door, and they were at the far corner of the room, and I just
put my head round. It was the tone of their voices that made me curious — and I
saw Mr Durrant bending very low over Miss Allardyce’s hand, and kissing it.
Yes! It was so very surprising — and affecting too — the way he did it. And he
said — I heard him say — I know it was shocking of me to listen: “I am glad — so
glad to have spoken.” Those were his words — and he thanked her — oh, that was
affecting too — the way he thanked her. And then he straightened up, and I
thought he must be about to see me, and I crept away. I felt very bad
afterwards, but I couldn’t help it; and I came away to find you. Those were his
words: “I am glad — so glad to have spoken.” Oh, I know it is none of my
affair, but what do you think? Is it not — do you suppose there is an
understanding?’

Lydia found her voice.
‘What did Miss Allardyce say?’

‘Nothing — nothing that
I heard. She smiled. She was a little pale perhaps — it is hard to say. Oh,
Lydia’ — Phoebe’s eyes anxiously searched her face — ‘do you think very badly
of me? I know I ought to have come away at once, and I
nearly
did.’

‘There can be few
greater temptations than eavesdropping, but there are many worse ones,’ Lydia
said, gathering herself, and patting Phoebe’s hand. ‘I believe — I think you
are quite right in saying, however, that you should not tell anyone else. The
thing has a — a certain appearance, to be sure — but that is all we can say at
the moment.’

‘You are right, of
course,’ Phoebe said, trustful, but faintly disappointed. ‘One should not draw
conclusions.’

‘One should certainly
not draw conclusions,’ Lydia breathed, as they turned back to the ballroom.

‘But I only thought
—
if it
‘were the case, what a very good thing it would be. Such a match as
everyone must rejoice in — so suitable: for I am sure, besides being so clever,
they are both discriminating in their tastes, and not anyone would do. And
there seems besides a sort of —’ Phoebe’s eyes grew lamplike ‘— well, a sort of
fitness in it. But indeed I must not talk of it any more.’

Certainly this was as
much as Lydia’s patience could bear, and she was glad to surrender Phoebe to
Mrs Allardyce’s possessiveness, and be as alone as she could be in the crowded
ballroom.

One should not draw
conclusions — and she struggled against doing so, with all the strength of aversion;
but they would not be denied. The meaning of the scene — well, there was no
doubting that it
had
meaning. Mr Durrant, as he said, did not flirt:
whatever had taken place in the cloakroom was no nonsensical exchange, to be
forgotten next day. Phoebe’s conclusion seemed indeed the likeliest — an
understanding . . . But there was another possibility: an avowal, a proposal
refused, and the dignity of sense and maturity on both sides . . . Yet Lydia
could not contemplate either of these conclusions without the wretchedest of
feelings — feelings she could make no sense of for some time, as they resounded
dully against Phoebe’s words:
none of my affair.

There was the trouble.
The scene had come so soon after Lydia’s well-meant advice to Mr Durrant that
she could not help linking the two. If Mr Durrant, instead of seeing well-meant
advice, had seen provoking interference, could that have made him press ahead
in a mere spirit of perversity? It did no honour to his feelings for Juliet
Allardyce if so. And yet she was an intelligent woman, who would surely have
recognised the hollow nature of any such proposal, and treated it as it
deserved: there would have been no earnest voices, no kissing of hands. And it
was no use grasping at the hope that Phoebe might have been an unreliable
witness: she was a notably clear-eyed observer. Interpretation, of course, was
a different matter. But then it was all down to interpretation.

Yet supposing her words
had actually served to confirm his true feelings — had hardened inclination
into decision — was that so much to be regretted? Lydia stared blankly up at
the pilasters and mouldings of the ballroom: found herself loathing their
assured symmetry. No: but still it could not be approved: it was skewed, it was
not right. There was a lack of rightness to the whole evening, and she felt she
could hardly endure to get to the end of it. The last pair of dances before the
interval was signalled. A glance showed Mrs Allardyce leading Phoebe up to her
son: the sight could not please: Mr Allardyce should be doing that himself. To
evade the pester of applications, she hurried to the card-room.

Normally this was a
place that nothing short of escape from a hungry lion, or perhaps Mrs Vawser,
could have induced her to enter; but just now there was balm in the dullness,
the flitter of cardboard on baize, the somnolent absorption of the players.
Incredible as it had always seemed to her, people came not only to play but to
watch over games, and she was able to feign doing this, until a curtained
alcove at the end of the room caught her attention. There were seats: there was
retirement and silence: nothing could be better. Or rather, many things could
be better, but they lay outside her scope. She sat in a kind of numbness of
reflection, in which her excited thoughts on arriving at the ball figured
rather mockingly; and when she raised her eyes, Mr Allardyce was before her.

‘Miss Templeton. I
thought I was aware of all your many talents, but here is another — finding the
quietest and pleasantest spots.’ Uninvited, he seated himself beside her, and
nodded towards the card-tables. ‘You are not waiting to join a game?’

‘No, no. I was just —
seeking a little quiet, as you say, sir. But the music is beginning — were you
not engaged to dance with Miss Rae?’

‘Oh, I am not one of
your determined dancers. A few sets does for me. She is dancing with Mr Hanley,
I think.’

‘Now, this is not
gallant,’ she said, summoning a smile — somehow it came with difficulty. ‘You
must consider not only what suits you, but what suits Miss Rae.’

‘Why, it suits Miss Rae
to be dancing,’ he said, smiling much more readily, and shrugging. ‘That is all
that youth requires of a ball. Enviable, too, in a way: but one would not
really wish to be so easily pleased.’

Lydia looked away: she
found his gaze fastened too constrictingly on hers. ‘Mr Allardyce, I don’t
understand — I fear you are not in spirits. Has there been a — a quarrel, a
misunderstanding of some sort?’

‘I was never in better
spirits. Dear me, how puppyish that sounds. As if I am about to slap my knees
and guffaw at every remark. In truth, when I am in spirits I am a little
nervous, which must account for any strangeness in my manner. But in truth
again, that cannot wholly account for it — as you surely know. It is more than
that. Miss Templeton — this may be hasty, tell me if so and I will be guided by
you, but after what we said earlier I cannot believe it is — I must declare
myself now.’ He had taken her hand in his, which was slightly trembling. Lydia
looked down in pure astonishment, as if she had found him stealing her purse.
‘This is the moment when a man should make fine speeches. I cannot. I have
thought of them — run them over in my head. No good. One of them —’ he breathed
a laugh ‘— one of them included saying I am yours to command. Dear God, what a
phrase. Yours to command — and yet it is true. Miss Templeton — Lydia—’

‘Mr Allardyce,’ she
said, with a firmness she did not feel, pulling her hand away, ‘this is — this
is a curious joke indeed. If you are making a sort of rehearsal for what should
be said to
another
party, then you ought to have said so from the
beginning. Otherwise — otherwise I can only suppose that your good spirits have
led you into a moment’s absurdity. Now pray, let us return—’

‘A joke? Lydia, I know
it is my habit to speak lightly — perhaps even at such a moment as this you are
deceived into supposing I am not in earnest. My fault perhaps. But I must — I
shall
convince you of my good faith. I do not even ask for a definite answer now
— though I long to. The encouragement you have given me makes me bold enough
for that: but out of very love for you, I ask only that you consider that love
as yours. Accept that, and I will accept your answer, my dearest Lydia,
whenever it may be. There — I have lapsed into a speech in spite of myself.’
Tense, smiling, excited, he reached for her hand again. ‘But you know this is
not a moment’s absurdity. You know—’

‘Mr Allardyce, this is
strange indeed,’ she cried, withdrawing her hand, and even hitching her chair
away from him, through an exertion of muscles she never knew she had. ‘Too
strange to be pleasant. You speak of the — the
encouragement
I have
given you, as if it were something quite other than what it is: a very sincere
urging to make your suit to Miss Rae, as your chances of success are—’

‘Oh! I see — here is the
misunderstanding,’ he said briskly. ‘Though I had thought that matter clear
enough between us by now. My dear Lydia, believe me, you should not consider
Miss Rae at all in the light of a rival for my affections. That time, I hope,
is past, and obviously so. I apologise, if you still have some uneasiness on
that score. But it must have been plain to you for some time that my interest
in Miss Rae — well, she is a charming girl, and I esteem her all the more as
your friend, and I heartily wish her well—’

‘Sir, you talk of things
being obvious and plain, but they are not — not at all. Rival for your
affections! I have not for a moment sought your affections — my only concern
throughout has been for Miss Rae.’