Arcadia (31 page)

‘That includes you, I hope?’

‘Oh, no.’ The woman blushed. ‘I had little education. I know much, of course, but not the language. That I do not know.’

She looked sad. ‘You regret that you bowed to me, I imagine. You are a man of education, and now you have to spend an hour with me.’

He smiled at her with sympathy, for he liked her, despite the chatter. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I do not regret it. Not for a second. At the risk of insulting you with my learning, I offer you a quotation as a gift. “For the highest are the lowest and the lowest are the highest, when kindness is placed in the balance.”’

She bowed her head. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.

Then the moment was broken; her companion returned, the hour was over and it was his duty to reclaim his prize. Pamarchon bowed to him, and then to the woman. She curtsied back, gave one final glance and disappeared into the night.

He wandered on, considering the fragments of gossip the woman had passed on to him. Clearly this important guest had to be the same as the girl he had come across. She had not been arrested after all, it seemed. Or else Lady Catherine had made a bad mistake – which was most unlike her.

So where was this paragon of learning? Such a prize would not be wandering around unattended, that was for sure. She would rather be receiving, probably in a specially decorated part of the house or a great tent erected for her sole use. There would be people milling around, waiting to pay court and pretending they were there by accident. He walked around the courtyards and the gardens but could find no obvious signs of such a thing.

Eventually he noticed a trickle of people walking up a small hill, back to the refreshments, talking excitedly. His curiosity was piqued, so he strolled down to see what he had been missing. He
arrived at the lake and admired the clever way it was illuminated, picking out the patterns in the lanterns, how they reflected the stars flickering above. A dozen or so boats, now empty, were tied up and the last of the people were leaving.

Only one couple remained, talking to a woman who, he guessed, must be a singer. He realised with shock that one was the woman who had disdained him so contemptuously earlier in the evening. Clearly she was not so frosty with everyone; her gestures were animated, her laughter echoed softly over the water. All were entranced by her.

As he was watching, she turned and saw him. He bowed deeply to her a second time, giving her the opportunity to repulse him once more, to show he did not care.

To his astonishment she paused, glanced briefly at her companion and curtsied deeply back.

The two looked at each other, one defiant and the other scarcely able to conceal his surprise. The only sound came from her young escort, who let out a strangled cry of what sounded like alarm when he noticed what had happened. Both ignored him.

The man held out his arm and his new companion, after a moment’s hesitation, placed her hand lightly on it. ‘Let us walk,’ he said, ‘for the hour we have in each other’s company is only a short moment.’

He looked back at the boy he had just replaced, then led her away.

‘It is an honour to make your acquaintance,’ he began.

‘Well,’ she replied. ‘As for whether it is an honour to make yours, that I will have to decide later. If I remember correctly – and I am sure I do, as I have a very good memory – you said the most horrid things to me earlier. And you ran off leaving me to the tender mercies of a bunch of soldiers. You can hardly be annoyed if I gave you a nasty look. It was my very best nasty look, you know, even if I didn’t know it was you. I have practised it many times for just such an occasion.’

He studied her face, as far as it could be seen because of the
mask; next her long golden hair, her clothes. Then he realised it was the girl who called herself Rosalind. No wonder Lady Catherine was so keen to get hold of her. Her mere presence would adorn Willdon. ‘My apologies. I was in grave error.’

‘You gave me a very unpleasant fright. I come from a long way away, you see, and it wasn’t a good way to begin. Everything is so strange to me.’

‘What is?’

‘Everything. Why people are making such a fuss of me, for a start. Why they are so polite and formal all the time. Why you speak as though English was a foreign language. It’s so easy to insult people or say the wrong thing. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get it right.’

‘I’m sure you will learn very quickly if you stay here. Are you going to?’

‘I hope not. I’m meant to be back at school. My parents will be frantic. Oh! Don’t let’s talk about that. I’ll get so worried, and there is nothing I can do about it. You should either do something or not do something. Worrying is a waste of time. Don’t you agree?’

‘It sounds very sensible.’

‘Besides, I’m having such a lovely evening. As long as I don’t think too much about how very odd it all is.’

‘Is Lady Catherine being welcoming?’ Pamarchon asked.

‘Yes! Isn’t she lovely! Such a kind woman. Do you know her well?’

‘Not really.’

‘Oh.’ Rosie paused. ‘So why are you here?’

‘To meet you again, of course,’ he replied with a smile.

‘Me?’ She frowned. ‘You see? That’s what I mean. Why me? Why me all the time?’

‘I was hoping you would tell me that. You are a stranger, and strangers are rare here. You were received with the greatest honour by Lady Catherine, which is even rarer. You speak the language with exceptional ability, which is rarer still. What is more,
you are most certainly the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life.’

There was a pause, as Rosie felt her entire universe give way. She had often wondered, in the privacy of her bedroom, what it would be like if – when, she had determined – some boy paid her a real compliment. Or even noticed her. Now two had done so in the space of scarcely an hour. The first had pleased her, but a similar remark from this man nearly made her faint. She stared at the ground, hoping that her blushing red cheeks, deep breathing and worrying air of dizziness would clear before he noticed.

‘Are you well, fair lady?’ Pamarchon cried. ‘Have I offended you in some way?’

‘Oh, oh yes. I mean, no. Not at all. I am quite well, thank you.’

Rosie was sure that the conversation was supposed to continue; she had seen her parents valiantly trying to make small talk at functions and she knew that saying anything in these circumstances was better than nothing. But there was so much swirling around her head that she could not fix on anything to say. There was the party, the music, the soft touch of this man’s hand resting lightly on her arm, all making it hard to concentrate.

‘Do you come here often?’ she asked desperately. ‘Where do you live? Is it a nice house like this?’

He laughed. ‘Oh, no. Very few people live in a house like this. Certainly not me. I live quite a long way away, and it is a difficult place to find without a guide.’

‘Where, though? In a village? A nearby town?’

‘No. None of those. I live in the forest, under the shade of melancholy boughs.’

‘Why melancholy?’

‘Because you do not dwell there with me,’ he replied with a smile, which made Rosie blush bright red once more.

‘That was a quotation. Do not distress yourself. I live many hours’ walk from here, where the rivers meet and the land gives everything a man might need for happiness.’

‘Another quotation?’

‘Yes, but a tolerably accurate description as well. Tell me, how do you speak so well, yet know so little?’

‘Everyone keeps asking me that. It’s just because – it’s the way I speak. That’s all. Everybody speaks their own language. This is mine.’

‘But nobody speaks it.’

‘That’s just silly,’ she said. ‘Don’t you see? It’s silly. We do. Lots of people do.’

‘Not here. It is the language only of the most educated and refined.’

‘If you say so.’

‘What does Lady Catherine want with you?’

‘I didn’t know she wanted anything.’

‘In that case,’ Pamarchon said, ‘you do not know her. Who else have you met here?’

‘Well,’ said Rosie. ‘There is Jay, of course. He’s the boy I was with just now. Henary wants him to escort me for the evening. I’ve known him for some time, it seems.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I met him a week or so ago, the first time I came here, but he was only eleven then. Now he’s nearly seventeen.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘I’m not making much sense, I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Smile at me again, and I will forgive you.’

She did, and their eyes met. Rosie was quite sure that the breath had suddenly been sucked out of her body.

‘Do you like to dance, Lady? Will you now speak your name once more? It is music on your lips.’

Rosie took a deep breath. ‘Rosalind,’ she said. ‘Just Rosalind.’

*

Dancing was no simple matter of draping an arm around your partner and then moving more or (as with her parents) less in time with the music. The music played was, even she could discern, much rougher and less sophisticated than the singing she
had just heard on the lake. But it was still very complicated, the rhythms and speeds changing seemingly at random. Pamarchon knew what he was doing, however, and did his best to guide her, but on several occasions even he stopped and burst out laughing as she once again stood on his foot.

‘I just can’t get the hang of this.’

The phrase puzzled him, but he got the meaning.

‘Alas, our hour is up, in any case. Now we must part.’

‘Oh no!’

‘Does that displease you, Lady Rosalind?’

‘Yes, yes. Very much.’

‘Thank you. I am honoured.’

‘What happens now?’

‘Now? You return to your escort, and I return home. Any other entertainment will be a poor thing after your company.’

Rosalind stamped her foot. ‘That’s not fair!’ she said. ‘That’s just not fair! Why do you have so many rules for everything?’

‘You are too severe. “It is as it is, and must always be.”’

‘Well, that sounds clever. But it isn’t.’

‘It comes from the Story.’

‘It must be a very stupid story then, if it stops you doing what you want so often.’

It was as though she had slapped him in the face. His expression instantly hardened.

‘As you say, my Lady,’ he said stiffly. He bowed, then turned on his heel and walked off swiftly into the crowd.

*

Rosalind was horrified. She had done it again. What was it about her? Every time she started talking to someone, sooner or later they took offence. She knew quite well that it wasn’t only in this weird place that things like that happened. Not many people liked her at school either. She had few friends. Everyone thought she was horrid.

And she wasn’t. She really wasn’t. Why was it that no one ever saw how hard she was trying all the time? How much she wanted people to like her? She had loved the last couple of hours, because she had thought that finally she was getting it right. Then she had ruined it, and he was so nice. So tall. So …

She would apologise. She would run after him and explain. Make him like her again.

She hurried after him. But he had vanished.

Five minutes later she was quite lost. She had marched off with determination in the right direction and left the golden, illuminated area in which the Festivity was set. It was now dark, and she could scarcely see, but she thought she could make out a narrow track, a slightly lighter grey on the ground. She waited until her eyes were more used to the gloom – trying the trick her uncle had told her about, of looking out of the corner of her eyes so she could see better. It must, she decided, be the way Pamarchon had gone. She would follow. She took a few steps, tripped, then stopped. There was no possibility of walking any proper distance in those shoes. She paused and took them off, then picked up the long flowing dress so it wouldn’t get dirty and – looking no doubt a bit ridiculous – strode off in the direction of the woods, looming up dark and a little menacing, a few hundred yards ahead of her.

She walked for about twenty minutes, her resolution slowly ebbing away. It was not that she was frightened of the woods, but it was getting colder and her determination to find the tall young man who had held her so nicely dimmed as the memory of him also faded. So much had happened in the past few hours, it was difficult to believe that it wasn’t some sort of dream. A dream inside a dream, in fact. But can you dream of dreaming?

An interesting if useless thought, and minor in comparison to the realisation that she was lost. Apart from the moon glimmering through the overhanging trees it was pitch black. There was no sound except the hooting of owls in the distance and the more worrying rustles in the undergrowth. She didn’t know whether to go on or turn back or even which was which. Her dress – her
beautiful dress, which wasn’t even hers – kept snagging on brambles.

Get a grip, she told herself. Think. She tried that, but nothing came except a slow curiosity as she dimly noticed, a little way to her left, a faint, unusual noise. Forgetting about the dress, she crashed through the trees in the right direction. The noise got louder and louder until, just in front of a large oak tree, she saw a hazy rectangular area that was slightly lighter than the surrounding darkness. It was the way home.

Of course she should rush straight through; it might disappear. But to leave this wonderful place where people thought she was so interesting? To go back to the rain and the cold and the pork chops and homework? Could she not just wait, just another hour or so?

Oh, she was tempted. But before she could make up her mind she heard a sad, plaintive noise. She recognised it, or thought she did.

‘Jenkins?’ she called out in amazement. ‘Jenkins? Is that you?’

Another yowl came from the bushes, and she tiptoed over. ‘Jenkins?’

It was Professor Lytten’s cat, but how transformed from the last time she had seen him! Only the malevolent gaze reassured her that it was indeed Jenkins, who rushed towards her like a long-lost friend, curling himself around her ankles with every sign of relief. He even purred. Rosalind bent down and picked the beast up, cradling him in her arms as he erupted into a positive symphony of delight. ‘How you’ve changed! You’ve lost so much weight. Don’t worry, you’re safe now.’