Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I (10 page)

Julia implored her again to be serious, and said, that after this she would never dare call into question the charitableness of Miss Spenhope’s conversation. The next instant she was asking pardon for this thoughtless reference; but what was the disapproval of such as Marianne Spenhope to Ann, when she had successfully cheered Julia Parry? The only effect of this remark, was to remind her, that she had in her possession the knowledge of why the gentleman in the dark coat should have set himself to be repulsive; and she at once acquainted her friend with the brothers’ alleged history, rejoicing at having found a reasonable explanation for the younger’s behavior.

Julia agreed with her in thinking it sounded an improbable fiction, but said that if it was not, far from mitigating his reception of her, Mr. Lenox’s conduct was seen as all the more unbecoming, in that it was directed against one who had already borne much hardship through no fault of his own.

Ann disagreed; she argued that, in the circumstances, even the most amiable of men might have found it difficult to conduct himself graciously, when introduced to someone who came redolent of the prospect of ensuing proposals, altars, and, most disastrously for the disinherited, bassinets.

**

It was soon made plain, that however disappointed by it he may have been, Sir Warrington did not attach such importance to his brother’s displeasure, as to allow it to affect his actions, for the next day saw him the first caller at Merrion House, in company with his mother. Lady Lenox was a woman of extraordinary elegance, and the resolute simplicity of her attire very nearly succeeded in distracting one from the long hours she had necessarily consumed in pursuit of this result. Her manner was assured, but rather stiff, and in contrast to her son, her English was so correct as to cause some, previously secure in their syntax, to experience distinct qualms as their sentences ventured forth to pass under her review.

It was gracefully established within the first ten minutes that she was the granddaughter of the Duke of ______, and that she considered the years spent in her husband’s country as years consumed by the locust: the patrician disgust of the Huoyhnhnm for the land of the Yahoo seemed to lurk, unspoken, but quite perceptible, behind all her observations on the matter. After these disclosures had been made she appeared easier in mind, and was able to speak with greater affability, as long as her son did nothing to remind her of his unseasonable existence.

The introductions were got over in the usual way, with comments on the charms or inconveniences of town, and of the weather that morning; the party of the previous evening was mentioned, and the fact of the ladies not having met at it adjudged a deplorable occurrence, followed by an acknowledgement of common acquaintances.

Sir Warrington took no part in any of this, and scarcely uttered a word, but shrugged and smiled and kept his hands and feet on a short rein, as if he had been warned not to let them wander off and get into mischief. Julia, supposing that it was for her sake that he had come, attempted several times to speak with him, but in the confines of a drawing-room all the misplaced confidence of the ballroom seemed to desert him, and his hesitant search for words served but to irritate his mother, causing her to take his answers into her own hands, and dispatch them with the deft precision which characterized her speech. Sir Warrington made no difficulty about admitting these answers for his own, but smiled and nodded, and gathered his feet in closer to his chair, looking foolish. This indirect means of conversing did not recommend itself to Julia, and she soon ceased her efforts to divide her attention between the visitors, and replaced it at the sole disposal of the mother, thus leaving the son exposed and at the mercy of Clive, who was not slow to take advantage of the breach.

Ann’s report had sent Kitty into a flutter of alarm. She had heard of the gypsies with wide-eyed interest; but having grieved over their wickedness, pitied both the little stolen heir and his afflicted family, and rejoiced--no other option presenting itself to her mind in the circumstances--in their eventual reunion, she then became fearful that the baronet, with his sad history, was “just the sort of gentleman whom Julia would be prevailed upon to marry out the tenderness of her heart.” Ann assured her this was nonsense; but Kitty could not be calm until she had received from Clive a promise to meet the young man, and investigate the immediacy of the peril.

Clive was not entirely adverse to the task, as the description of the baronet’s disaffected garments had earned his interest and approval; and having contrived to be present when the callers were announced, he fixed Sir Warrington with a curious and intent stare until, seeing him at last disengaged and vulnerable, he closed in and secured the seat beside him. Ann, who was feeling some compunction for having fetched the intelligence which had determined the attack, was relieved to note that Clive had evidently resolved that Sir Warrington was to be won over. One never knew, in launching a “Clive-ball’ on its course, whether that course was to be one of destruction, or if it would bounce harmlessly off an inexplicably impervious target, or if, instead, it would bowl up in a casual fashion, uncurl, shake hands, and proceed to fascinate the intended victim into laying down arms and enlisting under the rival banner.

No one could be more winning than Master Clive when he did not take pains to disguise it, and Sir Warrington was soon happily confiding in him the details of his stay in town. His thorough mangling of the King’s English presented no hardship for his companion, whose ability to discern the words of otherwise unintelligible songs and oratorios had for years baffled his family; nor did Clive allow himself to be unduly disturbed by the other’s habit of glancing apprehensively across the room to his mother, every time he prepared to open his mouth. But Lady Lenox did not feel compelled to aggravate her eldest son’s shortcomings as long as he was not engaging the notice of an eligible young lady, and she permitted his conversation with Clive to continue without interference until she rose to herald their departure.

Julia’s indignation was not long in finding expression. “Upon my word,” said she, low-voiced, to Ann, “this is worse even than last night! Poor Sir Warrington! Was ever a man beset by such heartless relations?”

“It is no wonder he appears a simpleton,” said Ann, “if he is often with his mother. She has got him perfectly terrified of her. He hardly dared utter a sound, for fear she would cut in and make him look perfectly bog-brained, and not able to answer the simplest of questions.”

Lady Frances, hearing Ann’s comment, began at once to devise a speech, no doubt designed to show that their guest must have been prompted solely by a natural desire to conceal her son’s weaknesses--and then realized it would not do, and sighed, uttering something palliative about Lady Lenox’s affection for her
other
son.

“Oh yes! she is much attached to dearest, darling, clever Edmund,” said Julia, “there can be no doubt of that. But is it not curious that nothing so disposes one to detest a person, as hearing him continually extolled as a model of all virtues? Without another word said against him, I should now be quite prepared, on his mama’s glowing testimony, to account him the most unpleasant man alive.”

Lady Frances, who had heard with rather less detail than Ann of her daughter’s meeting with dearest Edmund, took this for mere persiflage, and smilingly said, that such judgements were foolish things, as it often happened that signs of excessive favor were as much disliked by those who received them, as by those who did not. At this, Julia, who had on occasion been made acutely uncomfortable by her grandfather’s obvious preference for her, blushed, and agreed, and said no more of Mr. Lenox.

Clive now addressed Ann, reproaching her for having misled him. “‘Irish Bull,’ indeed! Why, he is nothing of the sort. Shure, an’ he’s jist a dacent hibernian jintleman wid an illigant command o’ th’ Kang’s Inglish. I offered him myriad opportunities to demonstrate any ‘innate and irresistible propensity to blunder’ which he might be possessed of, and he did not once gratify me with even a modest barbarism.”

Lady Frances said, in a pleased tone, that this was proof that at least someone was fond enough of Sir Warrington to have taken pains with his education; and Ann expressed surprise that Clive should ever have expected to discover any great measure of accuracy in an appellation which had been conceived and assigned by a selfish wit, in order to justify an act of discourtesy.

Kitty having slipped into the room, Clive was now applied to for particulars of his conversation with Sir Warrington, and it was learned that he had been to Astley’s, and its wonders had exhausted his powers of description; that he had been to an Ergascopic Theatre to see an enormous “Aerial Tiger” filled with gas; and also to the Tower, where he had seen middling-sized terrestrial lions filled with melancholy, whom he was persuaded wanted their ears scratched and their bellies tickled. Clive had also elicited the intelligence, that the young baronet was accompanied on these expeditions by someone named Paddy, who was, he deduced, not much regarded by Lady Lenox, as the instant Sir Warrington gave utterance to the name, he had turned red, and cast her a look of mingled guilt and alarm, before blundering away from the dangerous topic, and refusing to return to it.

It was agreed by all, that the objectionable Paddy must be a superior kind of servant, a keeper provided by the baronet’s family, perhaps too stubbornly native to find favor with her ladyship, but retained for his ability to restrain his charge from any injudicious attempts to cheer up despondent lions. Lady Frances’s maternal heart was inevitably touched, by the thought of a young man wandering about London with no one to talk to but a paid and possibly disagreeable companion, and she began to consider whether it might be contrived, that he be included in some of their own family outings.

Kitty looked ready to faint at this proposal, and Clive objected on the grounds that, servant or no, Sir Warrington had clearly enjoyed his jaunts about London immensely, which he could hardly have done in the company of a “Captain Mirvanish sort of fellow.”

As from Clive’s own account, the baronet had only dared make the most passing reference to his companion, Lady Frances was not so entirely reassured by this, as to give up all thought of inviting Sir Warrington; but the announced arrival of more callers (and two gentlemen, at that) sent Kitty scurrying from the room on a gasp, and suspended all deliberation of the question until that evening. And having had the matter laid before him, Mr. Parry passed down the verdict, that if Julia justified his faith in her good sense, by having no intention of marrying a man whose intellect was so inferior to her own, it would be neither wise nor kind for any part of the family to behave to Sir Warrington in a manner that might easily be construed as encouragement of his suit.

**

Thus sentenced to receive no encouragement other than could be found in the general graciousness of Julia’s manner toward all her Greenlings, and with his family whole-heartedly against him, it seemed reasonable to suppose, that the baronet’s pursuit of Miss Parry would end as abruptly as it had begun. But as his family had already been forced to recognize, there are certain difficulties involved in thwarting the wishes of a stubborn young man, past the age of one-and-twenty, and in full possession of his fortune. Having presented themselves as disagreeable to the young lady in question (though in her ladyship’s case this was, perhaps, unconsciously done), and bent their efforts to humiliate him before her, there was little else they could do to dissuade Sir Warrington from making Julia the object of his attentions, short of locking him up. Their methods were so far successful, in that he did not again venture to call at Merrion House; but he made no attempt to disguise the smiles of joy which split his face upon every sight of her, nor did he cease to harass her with his singular notions of dance, whenever the occasion permitted. (Clive, privileged on one occasion to witness the baronet’s performance, murmured afterward to Ann, “’Twere scarce too much to say, No dancing bear was so genteel, Or half so
dégagé
.’”)

They were not even free of him on Sundays, for it was discovered, rather to Ann’s surprise and reprehensibly to her displeasure (and doubtless to Mr. Lenox’s as well), that the brothers attended the same unfashionable chapel as did the Parrys, and it was only the circumstance of the former always sitting near the back, and seldom lingering after the end of the service, that had prevented their meeting there before. But of course, no sooner did Sir Warrington learn of their attendance, than there he was the very next Sabbath, beaming away in the middle of the aisle, blocking their exit, and assuring them that his brother had wanted very much to meet them all, but that he had gone out to speak with Mr. Wilberforce, whom he had seen leaving, and with whom he had some acquaintance through a mutual friend. The baronet then attached himself to Julia until the Parrys took their departure, persisting to the last in his protestations that his brother would be returning any minute from wherever he had gone, and would be very sad to have missed talking with them.

Julia did not complain of Sir Warrington’s unpolished attentions, or even allow herself to sigh at his approach; but Ann, finding his artless enthusiasm increasingly bothersome, minded it very much for her friend, and thought crossly of the other Lenoxes, who were proving so curiously ineffective in their appointed roles. Her ladyship might be forgiven, as it was evidently a matter of principle with her to eschew, in the ordinary way, any place defiled by the presence of her eldest son. But Mr. Lenox was another matter, for not only did he relentlessly attend his brother to church, and every other public occasion, but the pleased manner in which Sir Warrington informed Julia of this, bespoke the elusive Mr. Lenox for a man of uncommon ingenuity, and rendered his failure to keep an acceptable distance between the warm-hearted baronet and Miss Parry all the more inexcusable. I employ the term “elusive,” for despite a lively interest, and the collaboration of Julia, who readily undertook to point him out, Ann for some weeks failed to achieve more than a glimpse of the gentleman’s hat as the brothers drove away from Lock Chapel. And though neither had any doubt of Sir Warrington’s ability to chase down his brother, Ann refused to have her curiosity satisfied in such an open, graceless fashion. She desired a leisurely, critical study of an oblivious subject--not an introduction.

It was as Ann sat one evening, meditating on the superior happiness of a Lenox-free London with considerable vexation and no conceivable profit, that her notice was gradually engaged by a gentleman standing at a little distance from her chair. He had been there for some time, but as there was no one else by, and as he had shown no dissatisfaction with the silence that existed between them, Ann had determined that he had merely come to watch, and be out of the way, as had she. Once or twice she had known his eyes to turn toward her, but for the most part he kept them on those dancing in the midst of the room. He was a complete stranger to her, and she was rather sorry for this, as she would have liked to have had the opportunity of discovering the nature of the thoughts, which kept his gaze fixed steadily on a spectacle that obviously provided him with so little pleasure; and his reasons for coming to an assembly, when his preference was plainly for solitude.

The notion of dropping her fan slyly presented itself to her, only to be dismissed, with an inward grimace of distaste, as a vulgar stratagem; and so, when, shortly afterward, he first glanced in her direction, and then quietly moved to retrieve the shawl that had slipped behind her chair, she reddened as if the displacement had been deliberate, and uttered her thanks in some disorder. The gentleman, naturally mistaking this for shyness, sought to calm her by several commonplace remarks, to which Ann replied with more or less coherency; and thus, finding themselves engaged in a conversation of sorts, the absurdity of returning to their former silence struck them both, and caused him to say, “I ought, perhaps, to go in search of some mutual acquaintance to introduce us, but I know very few people in London, and I should probably only succeed in finding one by the time your carriage was called. My name is Lenox.”

Ann gave her own name, concealing her astonishment. This was caused, not by the unaccented nature of his English--for had not Lady Lenox assured them of the great pains she had taken to protect dearest Edmund from the pernicious vowels of his native land, seeing him most carefully educated in England?--nor, though she had assembled a rather formidable picture of the embittered favorite, was Ann so naive as to assume that the manner he had adopted toward Miss Parry, was at all likely to be used on such a one as herself. No, the difficulty lay in the fact that Sir Warrington, who looked to be not above two or three-and-twenty, must be the elder of her companion, whom she would have placed at nearly ten years beyond that. She could not quite accept it, and asked directly, “Not Mr. Edmund Lenox?”

He smiled a little. “So my mother has given me to understand. Have you reason to doubt it?”

“No,” said she, doubtingly; and added, “I believe I have met your brother.”

Her companion heard this confession with perfect composure, and said something suitable, which Ann did not attend to. Eyeing him from this new perspective, she saw, what had escaped her before, that there was indeed a resemblance between them, of that indeterminate sort, which often strikes the stranger forcibly, while the subjects themselves protest that they cannot see it at all. Feature by feature they were not much alike: Mr. Lenox’s hair was darker, his face thinner, his nose not as straight, and the eyes a different shape entirely; still, no one would question that they were related in some fashion. It seemed probable that Lady Lenox must find this likeness between the darling and the despised a source of perpetual irritation, and Ann determined to exclaim over it at length, if she were ever again to meet with that fastidious ducal descendant.

Mr. Lenox, having acknowledged the existence of his brother, showed no interest in talking of him, for which Ann, upon reflection, could only be grateful, as such a subject must necessarily have required a diplomacy of thought and tongue, which she knew herself to be without. Curiosity, however, was not to be contented by prudence; and, as if anxious to prove the reality of the dangers so narrowly escaped, it was not long before some thriving remnant of folly prompted her to abandon a conversation of various indifferent matters, to say,

“Before coming to town I never realized how many pretty girls there are in the kingdom. And your brother appears to have found the prettiest.”

As Sir Warrington was at the moment plainly visible to them both, standing up with Julia, Mr. Lenox could not do otherwise than acknowledge the truth of this remark, albeit he did so with a certain dryness which was not lost upon Ann.

“But perhaps you do not admire dark girls,” said she (with what casualness!) “and feel that the golden apple should be awarded to another. Have you someone else in mind?”

She could not forbear a swift glance, to see how he handled his discomfiture, and encountered a look, so very
knowing
, that she turned pink on the instant. Accustomed to entering a room at Julia’s side, and therefore unnoticed, she had thought herself safe in anonymity; his look told her, that this had been a vain confidence. He allowed her sufficient time in which to rue her impulse to tease, and then said coolly, “Not at all. Miss Parry is fully entitled to the prize. But in apportioning it to your friend, I think you forget that it was more correctly named the Apple of Discord.”

Ann had often thought how pleasant it would be to possess the ability of commanding hysterical fits at will, that she might be carried away, insensible, from such situations as this. But her nerves were never of the accommodating sort, and forced her to sit, most reluctantly sentient, and detecting in his words a criticism of Julia which must be answered. She scrambled after her wits, and after a moment had collected enough to challenge, “But was it not vanity, rather than beauty, that caused the discord?”

“Vanity may have provoked the war on Olympus, but it was beauty that brought about the ruin of Troy.”

Ann began to grow ruffled. “Only because it was united with the heart of a faithless wife!”

At this point Mr. Lenox revealed his true colors in full, by committing the intolerable offense, of remaining, in his turn, completely
un
ruffled by this Hecabean pronouncement. He smiled faintly, and inclined his head, as if willing to concede the honors of the engagement to Ann; but she did not feel that the insult to Julia was fully avenged, and continued warmly, “I think you must have entirely a wrong notion about Miss Parry’s character. She is not a flirt, and has the kindest heart imaginable.”

“I say nothing against Miss Parry’s heart; I do not know it: only her face.”

“For which you would condemn her? Surely that is not fair! She can not help her looks, and is very careful not to misuse them!”

He closed his lips firmly, and looked away for a moment, as if more than half-resolved not to further the dispute. Ann was fully resolved, however, not to speak before he did, and at last he replied, “Miss Northcott, I trust you are right. But beauty is an irresponsible thing in itself, and can hardly escape being the cause of much discontent and unhappiness. No matter how carefully a fire is handled, the fact remains, that its very existence is predicated upon the destruction of any object that comes near it. I have said I do not condemn your friend; but you can hardly expect me to feel kindly toward the flame which, with the greatest goodwill in the world, is engaged in burning down my house.”

Since she could devise no answer to this, quashing enough to content her, Ann took what satisfaction she could in reminding herself, that as the endangered house no longer belonged to him, Mr. Lenox had no right to object if the whole thing became a heap of ash; and that all his noble-sounding talk on the inequity of beauty, was inspired by nothing loftier than self-interest.

They parted shortly afterward, with the minimum of polite excuses, and Ann was not so charmed with her own part in this conversation, as to feel any great impatience to recount it to a third party. It happened, however, that Julia had marked her meeting with the gentleman, and commented upon it almost immediately they were left alone that night, expressing her gratification that Ann should at last have succeeded in her design of seeing Mr. Lenox, after they had quite given up hope of it. She did not, of course, demand to be told what had transpired between them, and only allowed her curiosity the most delicate of manifestations, for Ann to appease or ignore as she wished.

There could be no question of denial. Ann did not hesitate, but told of everything, from shawl to squabble, as accurately and impartially as was possible. From the distance of several hours, she was even able to admit that Mr. Lenox had not been eager for conflict, but on the contrary, had sought several times to avoid it--giving her no one to thank for the mortifying
contretemps
, but herself.

“What I do not understand,” said she, at last, “is why an otherwise sensible man--at least, so he impressed me by his conversation--should be so convinced, that, out of all the gentlemen of your acquaintance, you must find his brother the most acceptable. It is not as though Sir Warrington has an enormous fortune, and he is not even a lord; not that these are things to weigh with you, but the Lenoxes might be forgiven for thinking they are: and so what has he to recommend him?”

“As for that,” replied Julia, “there is a great deal to be said for a husband who commands not only a baronetcy, but also an incurable sweetness of temper, and a handsome face; and the fact that his mind is like that of a nicely brought-up child of six or seven, might not even, by many women, be considered a disadvantage. He would certainly be very easily led, and never think to question his wife’s expenditures, or find fault with her behavior. If a
brother
can disregard his feelings, and still be the object of enormous admiration, then a wife would indeed be secure. She could treat his wishes with the utmost contempt, without any fear of forfeiting his affection and admiration. True, conjugal felicity in such a form holds no allure for me, but Mr. Lenox cannot be expected to know this, since he will not take the trouble to know
me
. And as for the other, it is obvious that his fears have distorted his judgement. You yourself must know, how the more one dreads a happening, the more one becomes persuaded, against all reasoning, that it is not only possible, but likely. He has allowed that vaunted intellect of his to become darkened by suspicion, and ‘in the night, imagining some fear, how easy is a bush supposed a bear’!”