Writing Jane Austen (31 page)

“Did you discover what happened to her?” asked Georgina.

“My mother got it out of her,” said Charles. “Maud held out against her questioning for about thirty seconds, I gather, and then tried a bundle of fibs for another thirty seconds before she came up with the truth.”

“Which was,” continued Henry, “that the sleepover didn’t happen. And Nadia, who sounds a nasty piece of work, had only invited Maud as a stooge. She planned to spend the weekend with her boyfriend, and wanted Maud in the house to answer the phone if her mother rang, so that her mother would believe that she had friends there. One suspects that her mother doesn’t entirely trust daughter Nadia.”

“Such a mother, with such a daughter, is irresponsible,” said Anna. “She was very foolish to go away and leave her daughter in the house, with or without friends. My mother would never have made such a silly mistake.”

“But how did Maud come to be shut out?” Georgina asked.

“Nadia wasn’t intending to have her boyfriend in the house for the weekend. Instead, they were flying off to Barcelona, no less, leaving Maud in the house. When she realized they were going and leaving her alone there, she rushed out of the house, the door locked behind her, all her things inside, while the boyfriend’s car was driving away at high speed.”

“Mum’s furious,” said Charles. “Further questioning elicited the information that Nadia is the same age as Maud. The boyfriend, according to Maud, must be in his twenties. So she’s been on the phone, trying to track down one or other of Nadia’s parents, the school and the police. Maud says that she doesn’t think Nadia was planning to go back to school after the weekend.”

“Sounds to me as though Maud might have made a good decision in taking herself out of that school of hers,” said Georgina.

Lady Pamela walked into the kitchen. “Henry, we need to talk about Maud,” she said without preamble.

“Good morning,” said Charles.

His mother looked around as though she had only just noticed
that he and the others were there. “Good morning, Charles, everyone,” and, speaking in the general direction of Georgina and Anna, she expressed a hope that they had slept well. Charles pulled out a chair for her, and silently placed a cup of coffee in front of her. “You may as well say what you have to say about Maud here and now,” said Charles. “Since Anna and Georgina live in Henry’s house, and have seen a lot of Maud, they probably have some sensible ideas.”

“It seems extraordinary to me that with three adults in the house, Maud has been allowed to get away with what she has. Henry, why didn’t you tell me she’d run away from St. Adelberta’s? She says they won’t have her back, but that’s nonsense. I can make a phone call this morning, and she can return there this afternoon.”

“She’d only run away again, Pam,” said Henry. “And, judging by what we’ve heard about Nadia, I’m not sure that the company there is what I’d want for Maud.”

“Every school has its problem girls,” said his aunt.

“And it appears that Maud is one of them.”

“I blame your parents. They’ve brought Maud up extraordinarily badly; they may be eccentrics, but they shouldn’t make her into one, it simply isn’t fair on the girl. They have no business to go away for six months at a stretch, and to such a ridiculous place. You must get in touch with your mother directly, Henry, and tell her she has to come home at once and sort Maud out.”

“No can do,” said Henry. “They were taken out there on one of the Antarctic survey ships, and it won’t call again for weeks yet,
when it’ll take them off again. If it were a full-scale emergency, a medical matter, something like that, then they might launch a special operation to get them out of the Antarctic. But I’m afraid Maud running away from school doesn’t count. She’s my responsibility while they’re there, and I say she isn’t going back to that school. I’ve done my best to find a new one, but with no luck so far. It’s just a matter of time, though.”

“It’s a pity she isn’t a Catholic,” said Charles. “Then she could go to Ampleforth. Very few students run away from there, as far as I know. The monks would soon sort her out.”

“Monks,” exclaimed Anna. “You can’t be serious, she can’t go into a monastery.”

“Calm down,” said Charles. “It isn’t a monastery, well, not exactly. It’s a boarding school, where I went, actually, only these days they take girls as well. In my day it was only boys.”

“Well, we aren’t Catholics,” said Henry. “And my mother doesn’t want Maud to go to a co-ed school. She’ll consider it when Maud gets to the sixth form, but until then she thinks girls are better off in single-sex schools.”

“I agree with her,” said Lady Pamela. “But in the circumstances, Henry, I think you’re going to have to consider a co-ed school. I suggest Hartbury. I’m a governor there. It’s an unusual school, and they very often have a lot of success with children who haven’t fitted in elsewhere.”

“I’ve heard of it, of course,” said Henry doubtfully.

“I suppose Maud still plays the oboe? They might give her a music scholarship. For myself, I think all this music does a girl no good at all. Much better to be good at sport, then you fit in at any school. Foxy never had any problems at St. Adelberta’s, and she can’t tell one note from another.”

“Maud does need to be at school, and soon, I agree,” said Henry.

“I’ll give the headmaster of Hartbury a ring this morning,” said
Lady Pamela. “She may be able to start after half term, if they have a place.”

She finished her coffee and left, leaving the others feeling rather as though a hurricane had passed through.

“An exhausting woman, my mother,” said Charles, reaching out and taking Anna’s hand. “But her heart’s in the right place.”

Georgina had her doubts about that.

Charles got up. “Come on, dressing-up time.”

Foxy’s dance was being held in a stately home not far from Motley Manor. “The house used to belong to Pam’s family,” said Henry as they drove up a straight drive, torches glowing on either side. “It fell into rack and ruin after the war, and it was far too big for the family to keep up. Then, about ten years ago, a millionaire bought it and restored it to its original glory. He’s rarely there, but it’s used for filming, and he’s let Foxy have it for her party, because she’s his goddaughter.”

The Palladian façade of the house was lit up, and, to Georgina’s amazement, there were two white-breeched footmen in powdered wigs standing one on either side of the open door to greet the guests.

Charles was rather pleased with the outfit he’d discovered in the dressing-up box, which was a blue coat that didn’t fit him too badly, and a pair of pantaloons. Henry had gone for black, saying that if he had to dress up and look like a fool, at least he could be inconspicuous. Privately, Georgina thought he looked very handsome in the long jacket, white shirt and a stock which his aunt had tied for him with ruthless efficiency.

Anna had found the perfect dress, falling on it with little cries of delight. It was pale blue, which went with her eyes and her fair prettiness, floating muslin with a satin sash. Georgina hadn’t been so lucky. The only dress that fitted her made her feel like a piece of
furniture that had been reupholstered. “I’m sure brocade is completely wrong for the period, and I know I saw a cushion here at Motley Manor in exactly this fabric.”

“You probably did,” said Charles. “A lot of these costumes were run up in the days when there was always a servant who could sew, using whatever material came to hand. Still, I think it suits you.”

Looking at the glorious costumes on many of the other guests, Georgina could at least feel sure that nobody would look twice at hers.

Foxy greeted them with joyful cries. She was wearing an almost transparent gauze dress, with a spangled rust-coloured gossamer shawl draped over her elbows. She looked sensational, and Henry told her so, earning himself a lingering kiss on the mouth.

A string quartet was playing in the entrance hall, and as they moved with the throng towards the ballroom, they heard more music wafting out from there. The musicians, all in costume, were seated on a small balcony overlooking the ballroom.

“I can’t think what Foxy is up to,” said Charles. “It’s all very well having those people up there, scraping and bowing away, but she’s mad if she thinks anyone is going to be able to dance to that.”

Foxy appeared beside him, as though by magic. “Oh, yes, they are, Charlie. Trust me. This is no ordinary dance, it is a re-creation of a past lifestyle; it’s an experience.”

“An experience of what?” said Henry suspiciously.

“Of a Regency ball.”

“Good for you, anyhow, Georgina,” said Henry. “You’ll be able to pick up plenty of local colour. Only if Foxy reckons this lot are going to dance, she’s wrong.”

He had underestimated Foxy’s ingenuity. Not only had she employed the musicians, but she had arranged for a teacher of historic dance to attend, together with some of her team of professional dancers. “In no time at all,” she said, “we’ll all be dancing
minuets, Janine says it’s terribly easy, and later on, there’s even going to be a quadrille.”

Henry closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. Georgina felt no happier about it than he did, not because she wasn’t interested in minuets, but because it reminded her of the book she should, even now, be writing. Although, with her arm hurting the way it did, she couldn’t write or dance.

“I expect it only hurts if people jolt it,” said Foxy, “I shall warn everyone to be extra careful. Don’t think you can get out of dancing, everyone here tonight is going to dance.”

Georgina found herself standing next to Rupert Grandison. He looked extremely distinguished in what appeared to be a very well fitting nineteenth-century evening dress. He noticed her looking him up and down. “Lucky thing, there was a time in the nineteen thirties when costume parties were all the rage. My father-in law had this made by his tailor and fortunately it fits me pretty well. Pam is wearing a costume of her mother’s from the same time.”

Georgina thought that Lady Pamela’s costume was extraordinary, consisting as it did of a puce satin high-waisted dress beaded with brilliants, and a matching turban which sported an immense feather held in place with a large diamond, which Georgina suspected was genuine. She carried a fan, and, unlike many of the guests, appeared completely unselfconscious about her appearance.

Foxy was right about everyone dancing, but wrong about Georgina taking part. She tried but found her movements awkward and clumsy because of the sling, and after being jostled once or twice by other dancers, she retreated to sit on the gilt chair and watch the proceedings.

In fact, she was happy to do so, and after a while she removed herself from the ballroom and made her way upstairs to the musicians’ gallery. She stood at the back and looked down at the dancers. For the first time she could see why dancing was so central to Jane
Austen’s novels. She watched the couples dancing side by side, moving forward, backward and then to the left and to the right, hands linked in a high, graceful hold.

The first strong beat was followed by the light, tripping second and third beats, and the elegant, graceful movements were strangely sexy. And, even though many of the dancers were having to concentrate on the steps, they also found time to talk to one another.

Henry took Georgina in to supper, and they sat at a table with Charles and Anna and some other lively, noisy people whom Charles and Henry knew but she and Anna didn’t. Anna was completely self-possessed, not at all uncomfortable at being among a group of strangers, and said that she liked the dancing very much indeed. “It is exhilarating, it is a shame that you can’t join in.”

“Did you see her?” Charles asked Georgina. “She picked it up at once, she’s a terrific dancer, light on her feet and looks wonderful doing it.”

Georgina liked the pride with which he praised Anna. She also thought that Henry danced rather well, although the sight of him going down the dance with Foxy, laughing and talking, had rather irritated her.

After supper the dancing resumed, and Georgina went back to a corner of the ballroom to watch. Here she was joined after a few minutes by a pink-faced girl wearing an ornate gown with lots of ruffles around the bottom. She plumped herself down besides Georgina, and let out a fat sigh.

“I’ve got a bad toe,” she announced. “Ali Baba stood on it a while ago, he’s my horse, you know, and I’m losing the nail. My toe’s hurting like mad, and although I tried dancing in my stockings, it’s just too painful. Does your arm hurt much? Have you broken it?”

Georgina explained.

“Well, a writer!” said the girl. “I always thought I’d like to write
a book, but I’m too dim. I like reading, though; what’s the title of yours? I’ll look out for it.”

Georgina had an idea that
Magdalene Crib
might not be the kind of book that her companion liked to read.

“I’m Lally, by the way,” the girl said. “Lally Rushworth. You came with Henry, didn’t you? Is he rather cut up about Sophie?”

“Why should he be?”

“Well, they aren’t together any more, are they?”

“They are, as far as I know.”

“I heard she’d taken up with one of her fellow actors, or perhaps there was nothing in it. People are such gossips. Do you know many people here?”

“Practically nobody.”

“Well, I know everyone. I can tell you all about them.” She followed the direction of Georgina’s eyes. Georgina was gazing at one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. He was standing out of the dance, and talking to an equally attractive young woman, with lively, laughing eyes. She was looking up at him with a smile on her lips, and he was bending slightly forward, with such a look of affection on his face that it quite took her breath away.

“That’s Fitzwilliam, gorgeous, isn’t he? No good casting your eyes in that direction, though, he doesn’t have eyes for anyone except Liz. They’re getting married before Christmas. Lucky her, I say.”

Georgina turned her attention away from the couple whose delight in each other brought a lump to her throat, and found herself looking at a dark man with a sensuous mouth and a rakish air.