Agnes tried to withdraw from the expedition on the grounds that she must return to the cottage to finish her packing and oversee the removal of her trunk to the house. She was becoming increasingly aware that the Marquess had by no means forgotten the interest he had taken in her on the first evening and was inclined to pursue it; nor that Louisa, who had stiffened when Danehill began his exclamations of pleasure at her return, would prefer her to keep out of the way, at least so far as he was concerned. This laudable plan was, however, prevented by his lordship’s intervention.
“Why, you have only this moment arrived! You cannot go back at once! Surely the servants can be trusted to bring your trunk without your having to stand over them. If Lady Armitage has decided she can manage without you in future, it would only be sensible to allow her to discover how much she will miss you sooner rather than later. Also, and by no means least important, how do you suppose we are to endure the disappointment of your disappearing again within a scarce half-hour of returning?”
“No, you cannot leave again at once,” Louisa added without much conviction. “In any event Mama has already changed the seating to accommodate you – you cannot be so selfish as to make her go through the whole exercise again.”
“Very well – thank you,” Agnes said humbly and took her seat beside Louisa in the barouche-landau.
The Marquess tenderly wrapped the two ladies in rugs and the procession set forth. It was less than an hour’s drive to Pevensey, the ruined castle overlooking the sea that was their destination.
“What in the world are you bringing in such a large receptacle?” Danehill enquired, observing the capacious bag which Agnes held upon her lap. “Is it your overnight valise? I hope we shall not be required to sleep at Pevensey, which is, I understand, open to the elements.”
“No; it is my sketching equipment,” she said and went on to inform him and Lord Hersham of her new career ambitions.
“Can I see what you have done so far?” his lordship asked with what seemed genuine interest.
“Oh – not much at all,” she replied, wishing that she had had the sense to extract the sketches of Sir John. Somehow she felt that the less Danehill knew of him the better – and the less Louisa saw of the time she had spent in the garden with the Baronet the less likely she was to be subjected to an inquisition.
“There is one I began the other day of Louisa,” she offered, turning through the pages rapidly in order to conceal the pictures she did not wish either the Marquess or her friend to see. The one of Louisa, looking out across the lake was almost at the beginning. “It was as a result of doing this that she suggested I should take it up as employment,” she continued, finding it, folding the other pages firmly back and holding it out to him.
He took it and looked at it for a gratifyingly long time although she wondered if he was wracking his brains for something positive to say about a drawing that was cursory in the extreme.
“It is remarkable,” he said at last, looking up at her with a much graver expression than his usual rather mocking glance. “May I see the others?”
“I would rather you did not,” she replied, holding out her hand for the book.
He looked up at her, clearly wondering whether to defy her prohibition but, in the end, to her relief, he handed it back.
“You have caught the essence of Miss Newbolt’s character,” he said, “although it is, as you say, unfinished. But, lord, what a terrifying person she is – a veritable goddess - as I told her the other day! I would not want to find myself on the wrong side of her.”
“Oh, Agnes, I wish you had not drawn me!” Louisa exclaimed, flushing angrily. “You remember, I thought you were doing the lake.”
“I was, at first, until I noticed how much more interesting the face beside me was. His lordship is only funning: it is just that he has probably noticed, as I did, that in profile one cannot help perceiving the ‘decidedness’ of your bones.”
“Decided bones?” Louisa exclaimed. “How can bones be decided? Surely they are simply bones.”
“Well, yes, of course, but some people’s are barely noticeable beneath the flesh; yours define your face in such an arresting manner that you might almost have been carved from stone. You look incorruptible and I imagine it is that which makes his lordship liken you to a goddess.”
Louisa, who had, until recently, thought of herself with some pride as incorruptible, was struck with shame at this description for she knew now that she did not wish her friend quite as well as once she had. She did not, for instance, wish to sacrifice herself in order to advance Agnes.
“Do you set yourself up as a judge through your art? Would you be able to tell if someone had done – thought – something wicked just from their features?”
“No, of course not. I was, rather clumsily I own, merely trying to find a way of describing your face more exactly than simply to pronounce it handsome.”
“So who will be subject to trial by pencil next?” the Marquess asked.
“I had thought perhaps you, my lord,” Agnes suggested with a candid look which made Louisa want to kick her.
“Did you? After this discussion, I am not at all certain I wish to have all my wickedness revealed.”
“Very well, if you are too afraid, I will ignore you and focus, perhaps, on Lord Hersham.”
“What? On me? Good God, what must I do?” the Viscount asked, looking terrified.
“Nothing, my lord. Would you like me to make an attempt here, while we are travelling, or shall I wait until we have arrived and you are studying an interesting architectural feature?”
“Will not your pencil slip if we go over a bump?” the Marquess asked, teasing.
“Very likely but I can always erase any mistakes later.”
She turned to a new page and began, without further discussion, to draw. The others fell silent, watching, fascinated, as her pencil slid over the paper.
Louisa, sitting beside her, was startled at how the Viscount seemed almost to leap off the paper within a remarkably short space of time.
He was not a handsome man but was quite possibly the most agreeable member of the party. Indeed, the more Agnes looked at him, the more she thought that he would make either her or Louisa a delightful husband, the sort that would always put his wife’s welfare before his own and would unfailingly support her whenever she felt in need of such comfort; in spite of that – she drew his jawline with decision – he should be able to hold his own even against someone as determined as Louisa and was, perhaps, equally incorruptible. She thought that he would be infinitely preferable to Danehill but knew, as her pencil drew the outline of his lips – neither sensual nor mocking as were the Marquess’s, nor indeed sulky as Sir John’s had momentarily appeared - that Louisa would never look at him; he presented no challenge and she, underemployed and frequently at a loose end, longed for the stimulation of striving for something just out of her reach.
If Louisa did not want him, would she, Agnes, consider him? She rather thought, aware of his eyes resting on her face, that he would not be averse to choosing her rather than the lively heiress. Unfortunately, no sooner had the thought entered her head than the barouche-landau did encounter a small depression in the road which caused it to swerve slightly and send her pencil flying across the paper. As it went, headlong, propelled by something more forceful and less rigidly controlled than her thoughts, she realised that her heart was no more capable of being held in check than Louisa’s was – and that they were both in danger of making foolish decisions which might make a mark as deep as - and perhaps more indelible - than the line caused by the vehicle’s lurch.
“Will you be able to erase that?” Louisa asked.
“Probably not altogether but it is of no consequence because this is only a preliminary sketch. I will finish the picture later.”
“If you want to sell your work you will have to complete it quickly,” Louisa pointed out.
“I know but it cannot be helped. The main thing is t
o get down my impression of his lordship’s face while it is before me; I will be able to work on it later.”
“You are very industrious,” the Viscount said with a smile. “If you have not finished by the time we all go home you can always come up to London and show us the final results later. I am sure everyone will be willing to buy them at a later date. I know I shall look forward to seeing the completed picture.”
“Oh, I should think some of us may have lost the impetus by then,” the Marquess said carelessly. “You must strike while the iron is hot, Miss Helman.”
“That is what I am trying to do.”
“On the other hand, if wanting to sell us your pictures will bring you up to London, we must encourage you as much as possible – and even essay to delay you.”
When they arrived at the historic site, everyone got out and fell to exchanging views on the journey, the weather and the state of preservation of the stones. It did not take long for the party, which set off en masse, to separate into small groups and Agnes found herself, like a sheep isolated from the flock by a dog, alone with the Marquess. She had climbed up some broken steps and was gazing out over the remaining battlements towards the sea and imagining the arrival of William of Normandy and his fleet more than seven hundred years before when she became aware of him behind her.
“You must take care where you step,” he advised.
“Oh, I have – I will,” she replied rather wildly, turning round and seeing that he was alone.
“Were you thinking of the invader and his army coming ashore? I understand there is some doubt about precisely where they landed but I suppose it must have been somewhere around here.”
“Yes, I was thinking that although perhaps I should, rather, have been thinking what the local people must have felt as they saw the ships come over the horizon.”
“But one is less inclined to put oneself in the shoes of the vanquished, is one not? It is much more stimulating to imagine the victor, to feel his hopes and plans, than to try to sympathise with the losers.”
“I suppose it is more exciting,” she agreed, “but simply to forget what our fellow countrymen must have suffered is – is – unkind to say the least. Unfeeling.”
“Indeed, but to my mind one has enough trouble with one’s own feelings without refining upon other people’s, particularly those of seven hundred years ago.”
“That attitude shows a degree of selfishness of which you should be ashamed, my lord!” she exclaimed, trying to conceal her shock beneath a skittish manner.
“I do not deny it – and I don’t doubt King William I was looking out for himself in the main. I don’t suppose he came here with the intention of improving English lives – or indeed even Norman ones; I should think he came in order to expand his territory and thus his importance. You, on the other hand, have made a practice of considering other people’s feelings more important than your own; if you did not, you would surely not have taken a job as a companion. I cannot conceive of anything more tedious!”
“I do not believe I would have chosen such a job,” Agnes admitted, sitting down on the broken stones and looking up at him. “It chose me – or rather an old family friend thought that she could kill two birds with one stone by introducing two penniless and lonely women to each other. But Lady Armitage is a delightful person and not at all selfish.”
“Really? What sort of a person is she – have you drawn a picture of her?”
“Yes; several; would you like to see one?”
“Very much.”
Agnes opened her bag, extracted her sketchbook and began to turn the pages in search of the likenesses of her employer. They were between the one of Louisa and those of Sir John.
“May I not see all your pictures?”
“No. An artist never wishes to show unfinished work to others.”
“It seems to me that there are some you are willing to show but others which you are determined I shall not see. Why is that? I find myself fairly longing to see those that you are so determined to deny me sight of. Whom do they represent?”
Agnes did not answer but, finding one of Lady Armitage sitting in her chair by the fire, passed it to the Marquess, who still stood before her.
Once again he looked at it for a long time, even longer than he had given to Louisa. At length he passed it back, saying, in a tone whose heaviness surprised her, “She looks sad.”
“She is sad: she has recently buried her husband and finds herself much poorer than she had expected. She has been obliged to move out of her home because she cannot afford to live there.”
“Dear me! That seems rather a drastic action,” he remarked. “Could she not have sold some of the land?”
“Possibly, but it is not hers to sell. Her son owns the property.”
“Ah, yes, I had forgot him for a moment – the elder brother of that rather saintly young man who is staying here at present. Why has he allowed her to leave her home if it makes her sad?”
“I don’t think he was consulted – he was abroad when his father died.”
“Was?” the Marquess asked, noticing the tense. “Is he now home then?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “That is why I have been dismissed. Her ladyship no longer requires my companionship.”
“I see. I cannot imagine that he will want to immure himself in the country for long. He was, when last I saw him, a young man who enjoyed town life.”
“Did you know him?”
“Of course; everyone knew him – and, truth to tell, despised him. He was a degenerate: drank, gamed, caroused; whatever bad things you know of men you can be certain John Armitage was at one time engaged in them. The brother, the sanctimonious one, is a bird of a different feather and must be appalled at the state to which his family has been reduced. I should think the mother would infinitely prefer to be holed up with him than with the degenerate but such is life, I suppose. One does not, unfortunately, always manage to get precisely what one wants.”
“No, indeed.”
She had been about to ask in what he had been disappointed but hesitated on account of not being at all certain that she wished to know the answer. In the event, they were disturbed at this point. There were sounds of another person clambering up the uneven steps and a moment later Louisa appeared beside them, rather red in the face and a trifle out of breath.
“Oh, I am so glad I found you!” she exclaimed, addressing Agnes. “I was afraid you had fallen down the oubliette or something of that sort.”
“No, I am quite safe. We have been admiring the view, his lordship and I,” she added blandly, standing up.
“Have you been drawing it?” Louisa asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Oh; were you intending to?”
“I own I had not thought of it although it is certainly a fine sight. Having decided to try to concentrate on portraits, it did not occur to me to waste my time, as it were, in trying to capture the English channel.”
“It is nearly time for luncheon,” Louisa said, still both red and breathless. “They are laying it out now.”
“In that case we had better go down,” Danehill said. He had stepped back so that, instead of being in front of Agnes, he stood beside her and Louisa found herself facing them as a pair, with her back to the steps.
“Yes; shall I go first?” Louisa asked.
“No,” Agnes said. “I think, since you have climbed up all this way, you should admire the view before you go down; I, on the other hand, having spent so long up here that you were anxious about me, will go down at once.”
With which she stepped nimbly past Louisa and began the descent by herself.
The Marquess, by no means deceived by Louisa’s explanation for her arrival, pointed out the view and asked her opinion on the invasion.
“Goodness! I do not think I have an opinion – it was such a long time ago.”
“Do you not feel sympathetic towards the poor English who were cut down and forced, eventually, to bow before a
foreign invader?” he asked.
“Sympathy?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes; they must have been terrified, do you not think, by the sight of the ships coming over the horizon?”
“This castle was not here then,” she pointed out. “Or not in its present form, at any rate.”
“Oh, this castle, yes, but I suppose they must have lived somewhere and they must occasionally have looked out to sea.”
“I am not sure they did,” she replied. “I thought it was William who brought civilisation here. Before that, I think the ancient Britons were a rough lot.”
“Perhaps, but I suppose they were men, like us, and must have had feelings.”
Louisa looked startled. “Is that what you were talking about with Agnes?”
“Yes; she has made me see that I have been wanting in natural sympathy towards my fellow men.”
“Good God!” Louisa exclaimed.
Chapter 26
For the rest of the afternoon Agnes made sure she did not find herself alone with the Marquess again. He had done nothing to make her so eager to avoid his attention but she was haunted by the pain on Louisa’s face when she had reached the battlements and had no wish to exacerbate it.
After the luncheon had been cleared away, the party continued to talk desultorily as they lounged upon rugs in the late summer sun.
Agnes withdrew a little, perched on a convenient stone and began to draw, keeping her head lowered whenever she perceived the Marquess approach – which he did on several occasions. Fortunately, the fact that he had clearly singled her out for his attention deterred any other gentlemen from doing likewise except for the Viscount, who hovered in the background until she invited him to sit for her.
And so the afternoon passed until it was time to climb into the carriages for the return journey. Were they all to sit in the same configurations as before? Agnes hoped not but was afraid that the Marquess would make sure they did unless Louisa could impose her will upon him. If she had not been so anxious about her friend’s state of mind, she might have been amused to observe the pair tussling for supremacy.
Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 21
