Fragile Mask (2 page)

‘
Ha! I wish I may see it,’ snorted his friend.

Denzell grinned. He was aware that it could come as no
surprise to his closest intimate since the days of their early
youth that he should be eulogising over some female. But that would
not prevent Osmond from indulging in a good deal of carping and
criticism, a form of good-natured banter that was customary between
them.

‘
I thought you told me you were finished with females,’
Osmond accused.

‘
Finished? No, by George!’ Osmond cast up his eyes, and
Denzell grinned again, amending, ‘Well, only
temporarily.’

‘
Extremely temporarily.’

‘
But this is no ordinary female, dear boy. This is a clap of
thunder.’ Denzell turned back to his hostess, and noted that she
was pursing dubious lips. ‘Aha! So you do know her. What is it,
Unice?’ he asked in a coaxing tone. ‘Is she married, or do you fear
my honourable intentions?’

‘
Your
what
intentions?’

‘
Osmond,’ interrupted Unice, casting a glance at her husband
that seemed to Denzell somewhat flurried, ‘I fancy he is thinking
of Verena.’

Denzell lost interest for the moment in the possible
significance of her manner. ‘Verena,’ he murmured reverently.
‘Verena, Verena, Verena.’ He sighed deeply. ‘My God, I’m in
love!’

‘
Oh, Lord, here we go,’ groaned Osmond. He watched his guest
lift the cover off the silver dish and serve himself with a
generous helping of ham and eggs, and observed, ‘No loss of
appetite accompanies this sudden flush of ardour, I
see.’

Denzell twinkled, taking up his knife and fork as Unice
bustled to supply him with bread and butter, and to fill his cup
from the steaming coffee pot.

‘
I shall force it down, dear boy, for the sake of
politeness, you know.’

A rude noise was Osmond’s only answer. Then a thought
struck him and he brightened, his gaze seeking out his wife
again.

‘
Verena? Lord, Unice, you don’t mean the Chaceley
chit?’

Mrs Ruishton laid down the coffee pot. ‘Of course I do, my
love. She is forever playing with the traders’ children. I dare
swear it is Mr Burrow’s and Mr Stapley’s boys, and the children
from the Friends Brewhouse.’

She sighed. Situated as their house was, just off the main
London Road about halfway up the town, away from its main hub by
the chalybeate spring, it was inevitable that her son should make
friends of this somewhat undesirable sort.

‘
I do not altogether care that Felix should enjoy such
company, though I dare say no real harm will come of
it.’

‘
Never mind that,’ said her husband. ‘The boy must play with
someone, after all. But only think, Unice,’ he added on a gleeful
note, ‘Hawk must needs set his sights on the one female who will
prove impervious.’

‘
What do you mean, impervious?’ demanded Denzell, starting
out of an agreeable reverie where he fitted the name to the vision
of that enchanting face.

‘
It is quite immaterial,’ cut in Unice before her spouse
could respond. ‘Osmond, you are not to let him trouble the poor
girl. You must forbid him to do so.’

‘
Forbid Hawk? Are you out of your senses, Unice? You don’t
suppose I have any influence over the fellow, do you?’

‘
None whatsoever,’ Denzell averred, and turned, his fork
poised in the air, to address Mrs Ruishton. ‘But why do you speak
of her as a poor girl?’

‘
In any event,’ went on Osmond, without giving his wife an
opportunity to answer, ‘I’m dashed if I take responsibility for
Hawk’s actions. Bad enough having the fellow battening on us, never
mind holding him when he’s got the bit between his teeth like
this.’

‘
You would invite me,’ Denzell pointed out, digging into a
thick portion of ham. ‘On your own head be it. But do be quiet,
dear boy. I am trying to have an intelligent conversation with your
wife.’

‘
Trying to turn her up sweet is what you mean.’

‘
Unice, I know you care for this fellow, God knows why, but
do, for pity’s sake, ignore him and attend to me. Who—is—she? Is
she married? Why “poor”?’

‘
Why ask?’ countered Osmond irrepressibly. ‘You’ll catch
cold at it, if you choose to try your tricks on that one, I can
tell you now.’

‘
It is only jealousy that makes you say so. How you ever
succeeded in attaching this charmer has always been beyond
me.’

Osmond took this in good part. He was not as well endowed
by nature as Denzell, who had a little the advantage in both height
and looks, but good features and an amused eye rendered him not
unattractive, despite the girlish brown mop of shorn hair that his
friends were inclined to deprecate. What he lacked, which Denzell
had in abundance, was that elusive quality, charm.

It was not the smoky glow of Denzell’s blue eyes, nor yet
the shapely lips ever hovering on the beginnings of a smile. It had
nothing to do with the manner of his dress, modish but
inconspicuous, nor with his obstinate adherence to the custom of
tying his own long hair loosely in a ribbon at the back, a fashion
going as rapidly out of style as was the natural female waistline,
which had recently risen to sit just below the bosom.

Not one of Denzell’s numerous female admirers could have
said just what it was that caused the heart to race faster in her
breast, or her knees to weaken whenever he chanced to smile at her
in a particular way. But every one of them would have agreed that,
whatever it might be, it was irresistible. That he was also an
accomplished flirt apparently only added—in the sapient opinion of
his observant friend—to his attractions.

‘
Tell me, Unice,’ he was continuing, turning to his hostess
again, ‘were you inebriated when this fellow offered for
you?’

A crack of laughter from Osmond acknowledged a hit. But
although Unice smiled, she dealt her visitor a smart slap on the
arm.

‘
For shame, Denzell. You know perfectly well that it was
love at first sight with us both.’

‘
Exactly. And now that I, in my turn, have fallen victim to
the tender passion—’

‘
Ha!’

‘—
it would be cruel in you,’ continued Denzell, ignoring his
host, ‘to withhold any little item concerning the lady who has
dashed the heart from my chest in an instant. Tell me
all!’

‘
But, indeed, Denzell, I believe Osmond is in the right of
it on this occasion.’

‘
What do you mean, on this occasion? I’m always in the right
of it.’

‘
Do be quiet for a moment, dearest.’

‘
Yes, for pity’s sake, “dearest”, hold your
tongue!’

Osmond rolled some crumbled bread and flicked it at his
friend. Denzell, naturally enough, returned the compliment, and
battle was fairly joined until both combatants were called to order
by the lady of the house.

‘
I declare, you are worse than Felix and Miles, the pair of
you,’ she complained.

‘
Well, Hawk shouldn’t be so dashed insulting,’ said her
husband impenitently.

‘
I like that. You began it.’

‘
Enough, both of you!’

‘
Send him away, Unice,’ begged Denzell, ‘and then you and I
may enjoy a comfortable cose about the beautiful
Verena.’

But Osmond refused to go anywhere, repeating his conviction
that Hawk would come to grief if he meant to attempt to storm the
citadel that was Miss Verena Chaceley.

‘
Verena Chaceley,’ repeated Denzell, mock passionate. ‘Even
her name is music. And you give me hope, Ossie. She is still a
“miss”. Speak, Unice. I wish to know all about her.’

‘
Well, you won’t,’ said Osmond on a note of satisfaction.
‘For no one does. It’s a dashed mystery, if you wish to
know.’

‘
I do wish to know,’ Denzell retorted.
‘
What
mystery? Come, Unice.’

Mrs Ruishton capitulated, lifting the coffee pot and
refilling his cup. ‘It is not a mystery, although she is very close
and will not chatter about herself. She lives in lodgings not two
doors from here—’

‘
Then you are neighbours. Better and better.’ He frowned
then. ‘Lodgings? What, alone?’

‘
No, she resides with her mother. I believe that is why they
came here. Mrs Peverill is in the poorest of health.’

Denzell lowered the
coffee cup from his lips.

‘
Peverill? I thought you said Chaceley.’

‘
Yes, Verena is Chaceley, but her mother is Mrs
Peverill.’

‘
All part of the mystery,’ put in Osmond. ‘The mother must
have remarried, but no one has been able to discover the
details.’

‘
Not even Mrs Felpham,’ agreed Unice. ‘She is the most
inveterate gossip, you must know, and always has the news before
anyone else. These two came here in September, just after the close
of the Season. No one saw them arrive. They just appeared among us
one day. Even Mr Tyson—our Master of Ceremonies, you know—was taken
aback. He usually presents newcomers to the town, and this time he
could not.’

‘
You’ve never seen anyone so put out,’ added Osmond on a
laugh. ‘Or he would have been, only that he succumbed in
minutes.’

‘
As did every other male in the community, including Osmond,
whatever he may say. She is so serenely beautiful that it is hardly
surprising.’

‘
I admire her looks, yes,’ conceded her husband. ‘Any man
would. Too cold and placid, though. I prefer a cosier armful, by
Jupiter.’

His eyes rested with a great degree of warmth on his wife’s
face as he spoke. But Denzell did not notice. The image of Verena
Chaceley’s animated countenance was playing in his vision. He
frowned, nursing his cup between his hands.

‘
Cold and placid? Surely not. I give you my word, I have
rarely seen a glow of such warmth, such freshness and sparkling
enjoyment.’

Both the Ruishtons stared at him. Then they looked at each
other.

‘
He cannot mean Verena,’ Unice said with conviction. ‘It
must be some other female he saw.’

‘
It can’t have been, dash it. Who else could have bowled him
out?’

Unice shook her head, her, gaze returning to Denzell’s
face. ‘Verena is very beautiful, very calm, and exquisitely polite.
But I have never seen her display any sort of animation such as you
describe.’

An odd look crossed her features, of disquiet, Denzell
thought. He remembered then that earlier moment, when she had
seemed flurried. This was indeed mysterious.

Putting down his cup, he leaned towards her, ‘What is it,
Unice? What are you thinking?’

‘
I have sometimes wondered...’ she began, and stopped,
shaking her head. ‘Osmond thinks me fanciful, but she is so very
serene that I have sometimes thought there is strangeness about
it—as if it is not quite right.’

Denzell’s interest intensified. ‘What is not
right?’

‘
I don’t quite know. It is only something I feel, without
knowing quite what it is or why I should feel it. It is as if I
sense something underneath. A feeling, or a touch of—yes,
melancholy.’

‘
So that is why you used the term “poor girl”?’

But Osmond was laughing. ‘Pay no heed to her, Hawk. My
darling, you always imagine melancholia in others when you are in
your present condition.’

‘
I know, my love, but in this case—’

Denzell withdrew his attention from the
burgeoning squabble and addressed himself to his breakfast. To say
that he was intrigued would be putting it mildly—this female became
more and more alluring. To be sure, he had indulged in a good deal
of raillery in discussing the matter with his hosts, for, of
course, he was not really in love. He had enough experience to know
that these little
tendres
were transient
in nature.

He had not yet met the woman with whom he might fall truly
in love, but he knew that when he did so there would be far more to
her than a beautiful face—animated or otherwise.

But a little harmless flirtation with an exquisite creature
of the name of Verena Chaceley would certainly enliven his visit.
Besides, Osmond seemed to think he must inevitably fail, and that
in itself was a challenge. He must find a way to meet her as
speedily as possible.

***

Miss Verena Chaceley, unaware either of having been
observed or of being a subject for discussion, was hurrying home to
Mama. She was feeling more than a little guilty, for she had been
gone over an hour, forgetful of the time in her preoccupation with
the children’s games. She hated to leave Mama, even for this short
time—although Betsey might be trusted to see to her rising. Only
the fresh brisk air had beckoned, and the children’s joyful cries
had drawn Verena like a magnet.

How different from her own childhood. Laughter had been
rare. Oh, she and Adam had played, yes. Had forgotten even,
sometimes. But the shadow had pervaded their lives and could not
often be set aside.