My Dear Jenny (19 page)

“Well, in any case, I do thank you,” Jenny insisted mildly.
Miss Quare sniffed unbecomingly and left the room.

Had she been able to do so in comfort, Jenny would have
shrugged. She indulged in a mental shake instead, as much to clear her mind and
recall the events that had brought her to bed as to dismiss Miss Quare’s
animosity. When she closed her eyes she tried to imagine some part of her body
that did not ache, with very little success.

“Oh, Jenny, are you all right?” Emily whispered from the
door.

“I shall do, I suppose. But you, dear? I was quite afraid
when you dashed off like that. Come in, do.”

“Miss Quare said I ought not,” Emily admitted uneasily.

“I see. Well, then, stay there, and tell me what happened to
you. I am afraid I know all too well what happened to me! Was there ever such a
clumsy fool? I ought to know better than to try to ride, but I feel so
foolish
being afraid of a horse when even a baby can sit on one and crow about it!”

“I don’t suppose I even need tell you what I did—everyone
will be in a great hurry to tell you. They have me, certainly.” Emily said
sulkily.

“I had by far rather hear it from you, since it was you who
were in danger.”

“You wouldn’t think that true to hear Mr. Teverley and that
odious Domenic talk of it!” The girl cried. Then, all in a rush, “Jenny, I am
sorry. That was a silly thing to do, showing off for that
stupid
Domenic, and I was never in any danger, or—I didn’t think—”

“Of course you didn’t.” Jenny assured her calmly. And
winced.

“Jenny, you
are
hurt. I never thought anything—”

“I know it, dear, and certainly I don’t blame you for my
foolishness. We were both showing off a bit, love—I to ... myself, and
you to Dom. And we’re neither so much worse for the wear as we might be. But be
a good girl, before Miss Quare comes in to scold us! Run along, ask Dom to amuse
you; I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to do so. Heigh ho, how my head does
ache!”

Jenny’s words slid into a murmur. She had begun to doze off
when she was awakened again by voices. An elderly man in a rusty riding coat
was staring down at her, with Miss Quare attending on him.

“All in one piece.” It was a funny, creaking sort of voice. “The
young lady will do very nicely, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Miss Quare returned in an
unenthusiastic manner. She turned to leave the room; beyond the doorway there
were other people, and Jenny could hear their voices as the doctor came out to
see them.

“Will there be any problem? She will be all right?” one
voice quizzed.

“Just rest,” the rusty old man replied. “Rest her and she’ll
be about in no time. I’ll leave you a powder for sleep, though it don’t look as
if she’d need one.”

Another voice thanked the doctor for his time, and offered
to walk him to the door. Jenny had given up trying to sort one person from
another by ear—it only made her head ache more. She closed her eyes. And
opened them again when she felt someone else in the room with her.

“I do wish you would not always act as if I were
unconscious,” she said to Peter Teverley unfairly.

“You had your eyes closed. How was I to know differently?”
he answered simply, but a flush of embarrassment crossed his face.

“Well, I am awake. And as far as I can tell, except for a
horrible headache, I am quite fit.”

“You’ll be black and blue all over for days,” Teverley said
shortly.

“Probably,” Jenny said agreeably, too groggy to take offense
at his tone.

“Dammit, Prydd,” he broke out suddenly, “what in the name of
all the devils in the Christian lands were you about, to go gallivanting about
when you’re afraid of horses?”

“I didn’t go gallivanting, as you call it, on purpose,
believe me, nothing was further from my intention. And I was afraid for Em—”

“I know about Miss Pellering, and I have taken an
opportunity to tell her what I think of—”

“That
is
rather a liberty, isn’t it?” Jenny
interrupted. “When she is feeling wretched enough as it is, and here you are,
scolding her as if she meant for me to be hurt! She couldn’t have known what
would happen.”

“I am not going to argue with you when you ain’t in fighting
trim, Prydd.”

“Then you have more patience than I, for I am not at all
sure that I won’t argue with you,” Jenny said with asperity.

“Dammit, Jenny, we thought you’d been killed! How the devil
do you expect us to feel?” Teverley reached for one of her hands. “Shake and
cry quits, all right? I won’t trouble your Emily if you will lie still and mend
yourself.”

“Well,” Jenny began to temporize. Teverley gave her hand a
warning squeeze. “All right, Mr. Teverley,
pax
.”

“
Pax
.” He held her hand a second longer; Jenny was a
little startled at her own feelings, and was thankful when the door opened and
Teverley dropped her hand.

“Really, Mr. Teverley.” Miss Quare stood in the doorway, a
tray in her hands, a look of dislike obvious in her eyes. “If Miss Prydd is to
get well, she cannot receive visitors in this fashion.” Miss Quare did not say
that Miss Prydd ought not to be receiving male visitors to her bedroom in any
case, but the unspoken was loud in her manner. Jenny looked at herself for the
first time and realized that she was in a nightgown and dressing robe. She
pulled the counterpane a little higher and smiled at Teverley rather nervously.

“I’m going, Mary, I’m on my way,” he assured her
good-naturedly. “I’ll see you up and about in a day or so, then, Miss Prydd?”
His tone was formal when he spoke to her.

“More like the day after, or perhaps the day after that,”
Miss Quare supplied, setting down her tray. “Beef broth and calf’s-foot jelly
from cook. I will come and collect the tray later.”

“You needn’t,” Jenny began. “I can call one of the maids.”

“On the contrary, I must,” Miss Quare said sharply. “It is
Lady Teeve’s express command.” She turned again to favor Jenny with a look of
absolute dislike. “Enjoy your broth.”

“Thank you...” Jenny called uselessly to the closing door.

o0o

Emily, had she been asked, would have said that Jenny’s
presence at Teeve was a pleasant convenience only—convenient to have a
friend who was willing to help out, to play lady’s companion, and to play
duenna when the need arose; if it had not been Jenny who had accompanied her to
Teeve it would have been one of Lady Graybarr’s genteel aunts from
Knightsbridge who disapproved of
anything
that was amusing, or worse
than that, Emily would not have been permitted to go to Teeve at all. Certainly
she was happy to have Jenny there, but Emily was not by nature a very
thoughtful girl, and, once used to Jenny’s attendance, she forgot about it most
of the time. So it was that, of all the people at Teeve, she felt Jenny’s
absence in the sickroom the most, and understood what was going on about her
the least.

Domenic and Peter Teverley both, plainly, blamed her in some
fashion for Jenny’s accident. Emily’s own sense told her that, had nothing
happened to Jenny, she would have received no scoldings for her riding; she
would probably have been made much of for her own near-accident. Instead, Dom
muttered crossly about idiotic girls, and Peter Teverley had not spoken to her
at all, except to tell her that her behavior in the meadow had been stupid, at
the least, and outright malicious at worst. “And he wasn’t even
there
!”
she had wailed to herself after this encounter. Plainly she could not take her
woes to Jenny; even after their brief conversation when Jenny had made plain
that
she
in no way held Emily
responsible for her accident. Miss Quare made it plain that it would not be a
good idea for Miss Prydd to have visitors. So Emily was cut off from her only
confidante, and had to make her own way.

Lady Teeve had taken Emily’s measure, and decided that her
best course was to give only such attentions to Miss Pellering as would keep
the girl under the impression that she was a welcome guest, and to ignore her—worse,
to leave her to the tender mercies of Mary Quare and Miss Joanna Brickerham.
Lady Teeve was no novice in the interesting game of playing one person against others,
and had made it clear to Miss Brickerham—who fancied herself as Mrs.
Peter Teverley—that both Miss Prydd and Miss Pellering had set their caps
at Mr. Teverley, thereby insuring that lady’s wholehearted cooperation in
depressing Miss Pellering’s pretensions. Miss Quare she incited by requiring
that she act practically as a maid to Miss Prydd, which offended the companion’s
sense of dignity almost beyond bearing.

So Emily, downstairs, was snubbed by Miss Brickerham, and
alternately ignored and courted by Lady Teeve, who made a point of speaking to
the girl of her plans for dearest Domenic and Miss Gorbuttleigh, and managed,
at the same time, to intimate to Emily that Jenny was receiving a great deal of
attention from Mr. Teverley. Which information only served to widen the gap
between Jenny, upstairs, and Emily below. Lord Teeve spent most evenings in
conversation with Peter Teverley and his son, or playing backgammon with Miss
Sarah Brickerham. Domenic and Peter Teverley did not take pains to make conversation
with her, and Emily felt very much alone. Had it not been for Miss Quare’s
gorgon presence and Lady Teeve’s clever hints about Jenny and Teverley (but
that couldn’t be, surely! Emily thought), Emily would have sought her friend
out half a dozen times before Jenny was allowed to return to the drawing room.

At last Jenny was permitted to appear briefly in the drawing
room for evening tea. She was made much of by Domenic and Emily, and Sir John
and Lord Teeve welcomed her back to the company genially. Lady Teeve and Miss
Joanna Brickerham were elegantly insincere in their congratulations, and Miss
Sarah Brickerham only smiled, apologetically, over her sister’s shoulder.
Perhaps it was the knock on the head, and perhaps it was the strain of the
party; Jenny retired very early, accompanied unwillingly by the even less
willing Miss Quare, who had been instructed by Lady Teeve to escort Miss Prydd
to her room.

“You really need not,” Jenny said again. This time Miss
Quare did not even answer; she only shot Miss Prydd a speaking glance. When
they arrived at Jenny’s door the companion turned to leave with a sullen “Good
night,” but Jenny detained her.

“Please, I do want to thank you for your assistance to me in
these last few days. I know it is not what you are used to.”

“I know it is not at all what
you
are used to.” Mary Quare turned suddenly. “I’ll tell you again,
I do only what Lady Teeve bids me do. Nothing more.”

Jenny stared at the hard, defiant expression on the other
woman’s face. “I am sorry to bother you with it,” she began shakily. “But can
you tell me how I have offended you?”

Miss Quare sniffed disdainfully. “You aren’t worthy of the
notice,” she said coldly. Then her eyes sparked as if, having said so much, she
must say more. “No, you aren’t worth the notice at all. In any case, Lady Teeve
don’t like you, and that must be my reason.”

“But surely you cannot hate me for someone else’s cause?
When Lady Teeve has only conceived a dislike for me based on a misunderstanding—that’s
no reason to form a true dislike secondhand.”

“It is reason enough. My lady insists that her staff share
her opinions. There are plenty of poor girls of good family who would be
delighted to have my position.”

“And that is the point, do you see?” Jenny pressed on
eagerly. “We are two of a kind, you and I; I am of no better fortune, I warrant
you, and it is only by my aunt’s kindness, and chance, that I am here today. I
would have thought that we would feel a great similarity—”

“Similarity!” Miss Quare broke loose of Jenny’s hand. “I
said before: You aren’t worth the notice. You—you’re older than I, and
little and plain, with no pretensions of any sort, and you get taken into that
silly chit’s family and courted round to balls and plays,
invited
, not attending upon, quite as if you were young, or pretty,
or wealthy. And I—” She broke off, staring at her hands. “I follow Lady
Teeve’s instructions.” Her voice dropped and her shoulders ceased their
shaking. “If you need anything further, please ring, Miss Prydd.”

“But—” Jenny tried, but Miss Quare had inexorably
turned her back and was gone in a moment.

Unable to think too clearly, Jenny did not undress
immediately, but sat on her bed to contemplate the acquisition of an enemy.

o0o

Emily was faring little better in the drawing room. Domenic
and the other men were disposed to act more kindly to her once Jenny had made
her appearance in the drawing room and they were assured that all was well on
that front. But Peter, Sir John, and Lord Teeve had formed the habit of
discussing men’s affairs after dinner, a topic in which Emily could by no means
take part, and even when they disbanded, Lord Teeve played backgammon with Sir
John or Sarah Brickerham, and Miss Joanna Brickerham attached Peter Teverley
immediately. Which left Emily with Lady Teeve and Domenic for conversation, and
Emily was not in charity with Domenic, whom she regarded as the author of Jenny’s
accident and her own disgrace. So Emily, who had spent every moment since
coming-out at the heart of some group or another, found herself reduced to
floating on the edges of each group of talkers, unable to bring the
conversation round to something she understood on the one hand, and being
efficiently snubbed on the other. To be sure, Lady Teeve would occasionally
call her over to chat, but these little conversations were so heavily laced
with references to a match between Peter Teverley and Miss Brickerham, Lady
Teeve’s hopes for a match between her son and Miss Gorbuttleigh, and sly hints,
couched as advice, about Jenny’s behavior with Teverley. “I would suggest that
you speak with your—your friend, my dear child; it really is a sad thing
for a woman of her age to be throwing herself—I assure you! throwing
herself—at the head of some man. Poor Peter hardly knows what to make of
it, I may assure you....