Lady Rose's Education (9 page)

Lady Rose found it hard to join into the general merriment. She pronounced her happiness about Lady Letitia's good luck when asked, but her gaiety had vanished. Conversation flowed easily around her. She could feel it come and go in waves, but she concentrated on her plate and let herself be rocked into an angry lull, only now and again steeling glances at the brown-eyed gentleman several seats away.

”Are you not one for sweets, Lady Rose?” Mr. Perry asked.

”I peg you pardon?” Lady Rose said. She noticed the raspberry meringue pudding in front of her and slowly remembered her manners.

”Oh yes, thank you. Mrs. Baynes makes the most wonderful tarts.”

She bit on a raspberry, which tasted sweet and bitter, as if the summer had been compressed into one tiny object.

”Mr. Perry, do you think it is possible to feel nostalgia for a moment which one is only just passing?” she asked wistfully.

”Yes, I do,” he said and looked at her intently.

Lady Rose didn't notice it. Her senses were in sharp focus this evening, and she could only concentrate on the tingly sweet taste of berry in her mouth and a pair of eyes, which she was sure were making a play with her. She could feel their gaze brush her lightly and then leave her be, then brush her again and leave her again. She was alternating being in the spotlight and hiding in a dark corner, and each sensation was painful in its own way. Her face was burning red with the attention and wine.

She tried her best to sustain a normal amount of conversation, until finally the business of eating the dessert was concluded and her agony could be over.

When ladies retreated to the drawing room for coffee, Lady Rose lingered in the hall and finally had her chance.

”I hope you have enjoyed the food, Lady Rose,” Mr. Cowley said, ”and the company.”

He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially, clearly referring to tedious Lord Ashbury.

”I hope you have enjoyed yours,” Lady Rose said, smiling.

”Oh, yes! Lady Agatha is a most passionate advocate of cool summer mornings, but not very keen on hot and humid days of the said season.”

”What about Lady Merton?”

”Lady Merton does not care for dusty roads. Or bees.”

Lady Rose laughed and concentrated on the painting in front of her. She needed to steady her breathing. Somewhere near a candle had just gone out and a spiral of smoky scent lingered in the air.

”Devil is in the detail,” Mr. Cowley said.

”Pardon?” Lady Rose was caught off guard. Every time Mr. Cowley spoke to her, she felt he was presenting a challenge with his words. The challenge was: be wittier, be cleverer.

”In art,” Mr. Cowley said, gesturing with his hand at the rather green-toned rendering of a stormy sea, ”as in life, devil is in the detail.”

”That is very clever. Who has said it?”

Some reason the comment made Mr. Cowley's eyes turn dark.

”Does everything have to be a quote from someone else? Is it not possible I might ever have something original to say?”

He turned and stomped away.

”Mr. Cowley! I did not mean –” Lady Rose called after him, but he did not slow his pace.

She was stricken. How could she have been so... but she didn't really understand, what had she been. Tactless? She hadn't said anything that wasn't in line with the bantery style they were using.

Lady Rose found Mr. Cartwright, complained a headache and escaped to the privacy of her room.

The Countess was left to make Lady Rose's excuses to the young gentlemen. She was not happy about this, but she comforted herself with the keenness of the said gentlemen's inquiries about the girl's wellbeing, even if the most eager inquirer was the tiresome young vicar.

August, 1891

”Cover your face better, Norah. You do not want to ruin that velvety skin of yours,” Lady Rose said. Obediently Norah rearranged her bonnet.

Lady Rose fiddled with a weed, which she had plucked mainly to give her hands some occupation, while she watched the gentleman come nearer and nearer. His appearance was not really a surprise, since Lady Rose had been keeping an eye out from her window. Once she had seen the gentleman leaving on his daily walk, she had timed her and Norah's outing carefully so that they would come across him on his way back.

Finally they had arrived at a speaking distance, and Mr. Cowley said, ”I see that you are also taking advantage of this lovely cool morning.”

Lady Rose smiled. The previous day had passed without her ever clasping eyes on Mr. Cowley. He had been away all day on some pretext or other, but now their quarrel at the dinner party had clearly been forgotten.

There was an awkward moment during which he seemed to expect him and Norah to be introduced. Finally Lady Rose said, ”This is my maid Norah. She sometimes follows me on my walks as a sort of secretary.”

”Would you like to walk some more, Mr. Cowley?” she said. ”You are welcome to join us on a little tour at the woods. We will see whether the river has dried up entirely for the summer.”

Mr. Cowley gladly consented, and they continued the trip side by side. Norah followed behind the other two, since the path was really only wide enough for two at a time. As much as Lady Rose wanted to strike up an intelligent and thoughtful conversation with Mr. Cowley, a topic did not easily present itself.

”Tell me, Mr. Cowley, are you looking forward to being a history scholar?”

”Actually I have some ambition for political writing,” Mr. Cowley confessed. ”I have written two articles for the 'Cambridge Daily News'.”

”Really? That is very interesting.”

They saw someone approaching them at a distance. After a moment the figure was close enough so that Lady Rose recognised it to be the vicar, Mr. Perry. When the niceties had been exchanged, Lady Rose felt obliged to ask whether the vicar wanted to walk with them a while. He consented, and the group awkwardly shuffled into two twosomes, with Lady Rose and Mr. Perry leading the way and the other two following them a few steps behind.

”So, you must have an excellent memory,” Mr. Cowley said to Norah.

”Excuse me?”

”Lady Rose said you were following her as a secretary, but I can't see any pen or paper.”

”Oh,” Norah said, ”it's just something she says.”

”She says a great many things, doesn't she?”

She glanced at him suspiciously. She had detected some mockery in the gentleman's voice, but she only said, ”Yes, she does.”

”Have you been her lady's maid for long?”

”No, only a few weeks.”

”Let me guess. A very respectable matron of a housekeeper came to your school and said, 'Girls, a great honour is about to be bestowed on one of you', and all of the girls' hands were raised in merry excitement –”

”No, Mr. Cowley,” Norah said and looked at him quite sternly. ”That is not how it went, not for me.”

He pursed his lips together and raised his eyebrows, and this strange expression was at the same time unrepentant and appealing for sympathy.

”Would you tell me how it was then?” he said in a kinder voice.

Norah's heart was pounding. This strange situation and her being in it had been wholly arranged by Lady Rose, and that seemed to remove some of the impropriety of it, but still, she could not see it as appropriate. Not by any means.

Regardless, the gentleman was waiting for an answer from her.

”My mother died some time ago, and I came to live with my aunt and uncle. They keep a farm here in there village. Lady Rose happened to see me in the woods, collecting flowers, just after her former maid had drowned.”

She didn't say anything else for a moment, and Mr. Cowley inquired, ”And she asked you to be her maid?”

”Yes. I think she saw it as fate.”

”Right, yes, I can imagine that she did.”

He didn't ask about her father. Norah thought that quite tactful of him.

”What do you think you would have done, if your mother hadn't passed away?” Mr. Cowley asked.

Norah was not used to basking in this kind of attention. She hesitated before answering.

”I don't know. I had left school already, but my mother was teaching me some sewing. That was what she did, you see, some mending and sewing for the wealthy folk. Maybe I would have trained as a seamstress.”

”You can still do that,” Mr. Cowley pointed out.

”When one is young, one has such different ideas –”

”'When one is young',” he said and laughed. ”What are you – fifteen?”

”Sixteen,” she said and looked down coyly. ”Yes, I know that sixteen is young. It is only that when my mother passed away, I felt I had to grow up quickly. I thought, 'Now I know what it is like to lose someone'. I even had a silly notion that I had gained a new wisdom and I would get to impart it to someone.”

”But you cannot impart it to... your mistress?” he asked, nodding to Lady Rose's direction.

Norah looked at him suspiciously again.

”Please, let's not talk about her.”

”Does it violate the ladies' maids' code of silence?” he asked, mocking but only gently.

”Yes, something like that.”

There was a longer silence.

”I will tell you a secret, Mr. Cowley,” Norah said and hesitated. ”It is Mr. Cowley, isn't it?”

”Yes, I am a poor titleless creature.”

”The secret is, no one is born a servant. I have been doing the job for a few weeks, and I have not yet learnt to be servile.”

”Then, for goodness' sake, don't learn it. It would not suit you, I see it quite clearly,” Mr. Cowley said. ”You don't want to be a servant for the rest of your life. You want to get married and have a family of your own.”

”Mr. Cowley,” Norah said distressedly. ”Maybe I encouraged you to speak to me in this inappropriate way, but I shouldn't have. Let us forget it.”

”As you wish.”

Norah was still blushing, but she also wanted to get some things off her chest. ”I do want to be a good maid to Lady Rose, but I don't know how to go about it. I am doing my best to learn the skills, sewing and hair and such, but then there is the other side. How one is expected to behave. The servant is supposed to be invisible.”

”Whereas you are as inconspicuous as a maple at fall.”

Norah glanced at him warningly.

”I have been told the key is to maintain a kind of a fence between us and them, but to be honest, all Lady Rose seems to want to do is knock down that wall.”

”Really?” Mr. Cowley said. ”Tell me more. I am finding all of this fascinating.”

”I can't,” Norah said, slowing down her steps, maybe to grow the distance between them and Lady Rose and the vicar. ”I should not have said this much. I don't know why I'm pouring my heart out like this.”

She looked at him pleadingly. ”Please, don't tell Lady Rose what I said. I would not want to hurt her feelings for anything.”

”I promise you, I will not, but I can't promise I won't repeat your words back to myself a few times.”

”Don't poke fun of me,” Norah said.

”I am not poking fun. 'No one is born a servant', it is the wisest thing I have heard said in a while.”

He reached out his cane and bent a twitch that was blocking their path.

”Yes, in a long while,” he repeated.

***

Lady Rose and Mr. Perry were immersed in a conversation of their own.

”After our talk at the dinner table yesterday I have been thinking about you,” the vicar said.

Lady Rose thought that few men could make such a statement without a hint of flirtation.

”I would like to hear more about your writing efforts, if you don't mind talking about them.”

Lady Rose made a dismissive gesture. ”Oh, words are very unruly things, aren't they? Lately my efforts have been sorely disappointed.”

”Maybe the problem is that you demand too much of yourself.”

”Maybe. The best poems I know have a great permanence to them, as if they have been
engraved
instead of written.”

”Yes, but you cannot think that you should be John Milton or John Donne straight away. You need to practice with something smaller.”

Lady Rose nodded her head but didn't say anything. Mr. Perry glanced at her and said, ”Shall I tell you what helps me, when I get stuck composing my sermons? For me, thinking is doing. I can only think well if I do something with my hands at the same time.”

He struck a branch as if to emphasize his words, but then seemed to think better of his action and stroked the leaves gently in passing.

”'Action is eloquence', says Shakespeare. I have to do something resembling physical labour while I ponder. I recommend the same to you, Lady Rose, if you are still having trouble composing your poems.”

”Should I take up gardening, Mr. Perry?”

”Well, if you like. The same principle may apply to more feminine pursuits, sewing and such,” he said. ”Start small. After all...” he had stopped and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Lady Rose looked at him curiously. She was missing a chance to talk to Mr. Cowley, but she couldn't regret it too badly. It was an entirely new experience to talk to someone about her writing as if it was something to be taken seriously.

”After all,” Mr. Perry said and smiled at his pompous tone, ”one can look into a drop of water and see the whole cosmos.”

”Oh, yes, I like that,” Lady Rose said. She almost asked where it was from, but then she remembered the lesson she had gotten two nights before. Though she suspected that Mr. Perry's feelings might not be as delicate as Mr. Cowley's.

”It looks like you are the poet, Mr. Perry,” she only said.

In the corner of her eye Lady Rose caught a glimpse of a fast-moving figure, which may or may not belong to Lord Charles.

”Mr. Perry, you told me that you spoke with my brother. If he would have told you something that was truly worrisome, you would tell me, wouldn't you?”

”Worrisome in what way?”

Lady Rose didn't really have an answer to the question, so she only shrugged.

They were surrounded by hum of summer and locusts.

”Would it not be wonderful to be omnipotent?” Lady Rose said. ”To paint the woods with emerald in spring and again with bronze in autumn.”

”If I was the Almighty, I would make some alterations, I will tell you that,” Mr. Perry said.

”Do you not think it sinful to say that?” Lady Rose asked.

”Why would it be sinful?”

”One is not supposed to criticize the Creator.”

”I am quite confident that the Creator can take our criticism,” he said.

”Are you mocking me, Mr. Perry?”

”No, of course not. I wouldn't dare.”

***

In the evening as Lady Rose was sitting at her dresser and Norah was combing her hair, Lady Rose said, ”Was it not kind of Mr. Cowley to chat with you like that, during our walk?”

”Yes, My Lady,” Norah said.

”I dare say that he was sorry that the vicar occupied my time and I didn't have a chance to speak with him much.”

”Yes, My Lady, I'm sure he was.”

Lady Rose waited a little in silence.

”Norah, do you really not want to tell me anything about the chat you had with him?”

Norah looked awkward.

”I think he seems clever and friendly,” she said.

”Did he say anything about me?” Lady Rose asked, looking at her hands.

”I think he did mention your name, yes, My Lady.”

”So? What did he say?”

”I can't remember exactly,” Norah squirmed. ”He was mainly just asking about life in service and how it was to be your maid.”

”I hope you said good things,” Lady Rose said, smiling.

”Oh yes, My Lady.”

For a while there was only the sound of comb separating intertwining hair from hair.

”I still feel like your hiding your feelings about the gentleman,” Lady Rose finally said. ”What is it that you would like to say?”

”I am not sure, My Lady,” Norah said. ”Far be it from me to try and tell you what to do, but I will say something. Make sure of his character before you commit your heart to him. Find out whether he has true generosity of spirit.”

”That was quite a speech, Norah,” Lady Rose said both impressed and indignant. ”Have you some reason to suspect the gentleman is lacking in generosity of spirit, as you so eloquently put it?”