Fragile Mask (21 page)

‘
That must be why you have come,’ she guessed after a space,
still thinking of the new Ruishton baby.

‘
Why I have come?’ repeated Denzell, startled for a moment
by the question.

‘
To Tunbridge Wells, I mean. Have you not come to see the
baby? Or, no. Gentlemen have little interest in such
matters.’

Denzell pulled himself together. This was dangerous ground.
He could scarcely dare to say that he had come because of Verena
herself.

‘
Ah, but Osmond and Unice are very particular friends of
mine, and Felix is my godson. I came, if you want the truth, to
gratify them with a show of interest.’

‘
That was well done of you, Mr Hawkeridge,’ she
exclaimed.

Denzell had the grace to
feel ashamed. He grimaced.

‘
I have scant interest in babies, I admit, but I have been
very much amused at Osmond’s doting fondness. And I cannot but be
delighted to see Unice so radiant—thanks, I believe, in no small
measure to your good offices.’

‘
Nonsense. I was only too glad to be of service. It
was—’

She paused, remembering those extravagant and wild visions
involving this very image that walked beside her now. But it would
not do to falter. Drawing a breath, she began again.

‘
It was an experience I would not have missed for a
fortune.’

‘
I dare say you regretted that your mama was not well enough
to have attended with you. I believe all women wish for their elder
female relatives on such occasions.’

For a moment he did not realise his own slip. But the
silence that greeted this statement grew oppressive. Glancing down,
he saw that the mask had been resumed. Verena barely glanced at him
as, disengaging her hand, she took a step away.

‘
I must thank you for a very pleasant walk, Mr Hawkeridge,
but it is time that I was returning to the Rooms.’

With which, she turned on her heel, and walked
away.

Desolate, Denzell gazed after her. Her mother.
That was what made her turn. Not a lost love. Then what
was
it? In the name of God, what devil’s work was it that had
created this impregnable shield?

***

Sitting on her bed, Verena listened with only half an ear
to Betsey’s long-winded report. There was nothing in it that she
did not already know, and besides, she had so much more to think
about. Specifically, her encounter with Mr Hawkeridge this morning,
and that fatal reference to Mama.

Reality had come flooding back. With it, a cursing sweep of
self-abuse. How could she have been so stupid? How tamely had she
fallen to his guile. What had possessed her to allow him under her
guard so readily? She had caught herself enjoying his company. So
much so that she had slipped, almost unknowing, into her natural
guise, allowing him to believe—what?

What must he believe? What might he not assume,
from this, about her possible interest in him? She was
not
interested. Far from it. It had been shock alone that had
given her that painful jolt on hearing the sound of his voice—when
she had believed him to be miles away. Small wonder she had felt
sick. And then he had spoken to her with almost as great a sense of
indifference as that she had herself feigned. She had been glad of
that, of course she had. Even though she had been obliged to sneak
away, afraid every second that someone might stop her, for she knew
that her control was gone.

And
then
he must needs
approach her again. Insidiously using some clever tactic that
soothed the tumult he had raised, so that she lowered her barriers
all unknowing and gave him heaven knew what
advantages.

Then he had mentioned Mama, jerking her back to
remembrance, to everything she knew of men, and the disastrous
consequences of allowing them the smallest degree of
power.

Fool! Unheeding
fool!

‘
Miss Verena, are you listening to me?’

With a start, Verena brought Betsey’s face back into focus.
The maid was eyeing her, grimly suspicious.

Verena reached out and
clasped her fingers.

‘
Oh, Betsey, forgive me. I’m afraid I was miles
away.’

‘
No need to tell me that, Miss Verena. I’ve eyes in my head,
you know.’

Verena grimaced. ‘Don’t scold, pray.’

Betsey looked her over, and then plonked down on the bed
beside her.

‘
What’s amiss?’ she asked bluntly. ‘Apart from the usual,
that is.’

‘
Isn’t the usual bad enough?’

‘
That will do, that will,’ said Betsey. ‘I’ve just been
giving you an account of the mistress, and you’ve confessed to
having your head in the clouds, Miss Verena. So don’t you give me
none of that. What’s happened to put you all in a
pother?’

Verena sighed. ‘I am being foolish, that is
all.’

Betsey’s eyes narrowed. ‘You won’t fob me off, Miss Verena,
so don’t think it. He’s back, is he?’

Startled, Verena gaped at her. ‘Who?’

‘
Never you mind asking who. You know well enough who. You
don’t reckon there’s anything goes on in this town as I don’t hear
about, do you? Specially as it concerns you or the
mistress.’

Verena’s heart sank. There could be no doubting what Betsey
meant.

‘
Mrs Quirk!’

‘
The same.’

‘
What has she said? Why didn’t you mention it
before? Oh, Betsey, for the love of heaven, say nothing—not
a
word
—
to Mama, I pray
you.’

‘
Never you fret, Miss Verena,’ soothed the maid. ‘You don’t
reckon as how I’d open me mouth to the mistress on a matter so
delicate.’

But Verena was not impressed. If she had been concerned
before, she was now anxious beyond measure. She knew well that the
maid had her interests at heart almost as deeply as did Mama, and
she had often enough lamented the self-same thing that Mama was apt
to do—the lack in her life of a husband and children.

‘
Betsey, she must not know! Not that there is anything to
know, but if Mama were to hear of this interest, there is no saying
what she might not take it into her head to do. You must promise me
you will say nothing.’

‘
I’ve said so already, Miss Verena. You don’t need to tell
me. I know the sort of riot and rumpus she’ll kick up if she thinks
you have a suitor. And with the way she’s been carrying on
lately...’

Suddenly intent, Verena gazed at her. Yes, Betsey had been
talking, and she had failed to take it in. She had not listened,
because she was herself aware of some progress. Mama was like a
convalescent invalid these days. She had improved in physical
strength, seeming to need less time at rest. But as that strength
grew, so her spirits seemed to gain, not in joy, but in anxiety.
She was restless and fidgety, and much inclined to bemoan their
sedentary life here, remembering too often the activities in which
she had been engaged at home. It was worrying enough, but what had
she missed that Betsey said?

‘
What are you trying to tell me, Betsey?’

‘
Well, I didn’t want to worrit you, Miss Verena, so I
haven’t said nothing,’ said the maid bodingly. ‘But the truth is I
don’t like it, and that’s a fact. What with the mistress getting to
remembering what she calls “the good times”, though I’m danged—if
you’ll pardon me, Miss Verena—which times she could call to mind,
for I can’t. And not that alone, neither.’

‘
Heavens, but what more, Betsey?’ asked Verena, anguished.
How could she have been so selfish as to be troubling herself over
Mr Hawkeridge when Mama was hovering on the brink of just what she
feared?

‘
Well, you know as how ever since Mr Adam come the first
time, the mistress has been sighing over losing her home and her
friends—’

‘
Yes, I know—and Adam has been here again how many times?
Three?’

‘
Four, counting the last. And the worst of it is, Miss
Verena, that every time he comes, she’s at that bottle as if her
life depended on it.’

‘
The laudanum! Dear heaven, why did you not tell me this
before? That is just what I have been afraid of, that she will
become dependent upon the stuff. I have heard it said that those
who take it too often find themselves obliged to do so more and
more. Oh, Betsey, what shall we do?’

‘
Do? I’ve done it,’ declared the maid. ‘Don’t you fret, Miss
Verena. There ain’t no harm going to come to the mistress, no
matter if she drinks the whole bottle down in one go.’ Betsey
grinned at the startled question in Verena’s face. ‘Nothing but
sugar water, Miss Verena. I always sweetened it for her when she
was drinking the real thing for she complained of its bitterness,
so she don’t know the difference.’

Verena found herself laughing and crying at once, seizing
the maid’s hands and holding them in a clasp that spoke her
gratitude more eloquently than any words.

‘
Oh, Betsey, what
should
we do without
you?’

‘
That’s more than I know, Miss Verena. But there. We’ll
share our little secrets—you with yours and me with mine and the
mistress none the wiser, eh?’

A huge sigh escaped Verena. ‘You have lifted a load from my
mind, Betsey.’

Betsey grunted. ‘I’m glad of that, and I wish I could do
the same for meself. The truth is, Miss Verena, I’m that worrited
that she’s thinking of going back.’

Verena patted her hand. ‘Let her think of it. I won’t let
her go back, Betsey. She cannot do so without us, in any event. No,
that does not concern me.’

‘
Well, what then? Something worrits you, don’t tell
me.’

Verena grimaced. ‘I cannot rid myself of the conviction
that Adam is bound to give us away—’

‘
Now then, Miss Verena—’

‘
Oh, he does not mean to do it, I know that. But
dearly as I value my brother,
I cannot
persuade
myself that his tongue can be trusted. You know his temper,
Betsey.’

‘
Aye, I do that. But his care of his mama is strong, don’t
doubt it.’

‘
Yes, I know, only—oh, Betsey, don’t you think we should
remove from here?’

It would solve everything, Verena felt. Especially if Mama
was considering a return. With the added strain of appearing in a
much larger public with the Season in full swing here, she would
give much to be otherwhere. Not to mention the new nuisance that
had reared its head this day.

But the maid was firm. ‘No, I don’t, Miss Verena.
The mistress
is
better, for all you may not think
it.’

‘
I know she is. Better in body at least.’

‘
And mind, too. I’d say she enjoys the company. Why, even
now she has that there Mrs Felpham come to call.’

Aghast, Verena leapt up from the bed. ‘Mrs Felpham! Oh,
Betsey, why did you not say so at once? Heaven knows what she might
have said to her!’

Her fears were well-founded. Dashing through to the next
room, she discovered that Mrs Felpham had but just departed—leaving
behind her a creature agonised by what she had been told. Mrs
Peverill was half collapsing on the day-bed, agitatedly fingering
her gown, her eyes darting aimlessly until the instant that they
spied her daughter. She threw out a hand at once.

‘
Oh, my dearest, I
knew
this must happen!
Have I not said over and over again that you must seek your own
future?’

‘
Mama, pray hush,’ begged Verena, crossing to the day-bed to
take her hand, and sitting down beside her.

‘
How can I hush, Verena?’ uttered the afflicted lady. ‘You
need not try to hide it from me, for Mrs Felpham has told me
all.’

‘
Mama, there is no “all” to tell,’ Verena said, trying for a
light note. ‘Mrs Felpham is, as you are aware, the most dreadful
gossip.’

But Mrs Peverill would have none of this. ‘Do not
attempt to hoodwink me, Verena. You do not even ask me what she has
said to me, and that in itself shows there is some fire within this
smoke. You
know
what she has said, do you not? Do you
not, my love?’

Verena managed an indifferent shrug, although she
was feeling far from indifferent. Readily could she have murdered
Mrs Felpham. But to convince Mama, she
must
maintain the
easiest of tongues on the matter. However much it might be that the
wretched man had cut up her peace, it would not do for Mama to have
the least hint of that.

‘
There can be little doubt that she has made a song and
dance about the arrival here of Mr Hawkeridge.’

Mrs Peverill nodded. ‘Yes, and that he instantly sought you
out.’

‘
Yes, for we met at Christmas, remember. It would have been
impolite of him not to do so.’