CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mounting Tensions
Michael Brearly stood silently by the conservatory window, looking in the direction of the tennis court, to where his brother and new friend were laughingly battling out the second set of their single’s match. The sight of their frivolity, in the aftermath of Agnes’s injury, struck a raw nerve with Michael, and while he debated within himself what to do about it, the sound of his cat Henry’s meows diverted his attention. He instinctively moved away from the window, stooped to pick up his furry friend and planted a large kiss on the cat’s forehead. For several minutes he stroked and cuddled Henry, until the sounds of approaching footsteps aroused his attention. He quickly looked up and discovered with surprise that a breathless Frances was standing in the room before him.
Michael’s brow clouded. ‘Oh,’ he murmured, after an initial period of silence, ‘it’s you.’
Frances blushed and attempted to even her ruffled and disorderly hair. She did not reply immediately. ‘Yes, quite,’ she eventually said. She began looking awkwardly around the room. ‘I, I’ve come to see how Agnes is. I trust she is a little better?’
Michael stared. ‘I wonder that you are even asking, Miss Norwood,’ he retorted. ‘It’s quite evident that you have little regard for your cousin’s feelings.’ He began to stroke Henry with more agitation. ‘I didn’t expect any better from my brother, but you, of all people. I would never have believed it.’
In the background, Dobson the servant had just snuck into the conservatory, and with a folded table cloth in one hand and a wad of table napkins in the other, he stealthily made his way to the table and chairs, where morning tea was to be served. As he bent over to set the table, he strained his ears to hear the conversation that was going on around him.
‘I can appreciate your anger,’ Frances was saying heatedly, ‘but I can assure you that no malice was intended.’
Michael fixed his flashing eyes upon her. ‘Perhaps, perhaps not. Only you and George know the answer to that one.’ He placed Henry gently on the floor.
‘I hope you’re not suggesting that your brother and I conspired to humiliate Agnes. Good grief, Agnes was the last thing on my mind. To be perfectly candid, I was far more concerned about your brother’s cheating.’
Dobson, meanwhile, had just betrayed himself by emitting a low chuckle. All eyes were now upon him, and before Michael had time to chastise the grinning culprit, Dobson hurried from the room, but not before clipping his head on one of the many hanging baskets that hung down from the ornamental stands they were attached to.
Michael dropped his voice. ‘Oh yes, you must have been very concerned indeed. So concerned in fact, that you decided to play a single’s match with him.’
Before Frances could retaliate, the mercurial George, with his irrepressible smile, bounded into the room. He ignored Michael and promptly set off towards Frances. ‘So there you are,’ he cried out triumphantly, ‘my number one tennis partner!’ To his surprise, however, Frances made no reply. She was looking awkwardly around the room. ‘Hmmm,’ he continued a little more cautiously, ‘what’s going on? I’m sensing some hostility here.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets and glanced at Michael. ‘Out with it, big brother. What has happened?’
‘Mind your own business,’ Michael fired back.
George pulled a face. ‘Well, that wasn’t very friendly, was it? I only wanted to help.’
‘Help?’ Michael repeated. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word. Your middle name is hindrance.’
‘Yes, well it’s infinitely better than Percival.’ He leant closer to Frances. ‘That’s Michael’s middle name, by the way. Isn’t it awful? Makes him sound like an old fogey.’
‘Did you enjoy your single’s match?’ Michael angrily interrupted. ‘I was watching you both from the window and it seemed as though you were having fun. I’m sure it would console Agnes no end to know that while she was in pain upstairs, you two were frolicking on the court.’
Both George and Frances were saved from making a reply by the abrupt entry of Charlotte, Louisa and Agnes into the room. Agnes was looking slightly pale, and was holding onto Louisa’s arm for support. As soon as Agnes saw Michael she let go of her mother’s arm and made her way over to him.
Michael greeted his fiancée with a sympathetic smile. ‘And how’s my Nessie?’ he asked, gently taking up her hand. ‘Are you feeling better yet?’
‘A little,’ she answered. ‘I think it was more the shock than anything else.’
‘Yes, of course it was dear,’ Louisa agreed, watching Frances with an unfriendly stare. ‘How were you to know that your cousin would play with such forcefulness?’
In view of the unwelcome attention she was receiving from the whole room, Frances felt the need to make a reply. ‘I, I really am very sorry, Agnes,’ she lied. ‘I didn’t mean it.’
Agnes pursed her petulant lips but was reluctant to say anything, as Dobson had made his return and was finishing off setting the table. Yet again he tried to eavesdrop, but when he realised that no-one was prepared to speak while he was in the room, he dejectedly made his departure.
‘Well, I must say, Agnes,’ George broke in, ‘that you’re looking very much recovered. Fit enough, in fact, to play the final game in the set. How about we finish the game after morning tea?’
Agnes simply stared. ‘Certainly not! Nothing could ever induce me to play tennis again with either you or my cousin.’
Michael checked his laugh. ‘Nessie,’ he began, ‘ignore George’s raillery. He wasn’t serious.’ He then darted George a meaningful look. ‘I trust you were just pulling our leg?’
George rolled his eyes. ‘Well, of course I wasn’t serious. Huh! What do you take me for? I may be many things, Agnes, but I would never persuade you to do something you didn’t want to do. Besides, there was no point in continuing with the match. Frances and I won by a mile.’
‘Oh really?’ Michael queried. ‘And how did you work that out?’
‘Very easily, Michael. You just can’t accept that you were eclipsed by pure talent.’
‘By cheating you mean,’ Agnes retorted.
George met Agnes’s eyes freely. ‘A means to an end, Agnes. It doesn’t matter how you get there, so long as you win in the end.’
‘Even if it means injuring members of the opposite team?’ Agnes asked.
‘It’s certainly not an aim,’ George resumed conversationally, ‘but if it gets you the prize in the end, what does it all matter? Now don’t look at me like that, Agnes,’ he added, noticing the look of displeasure on her face, ‘I’m only telling you what everyone here was already thinking. You have no-one to blame for your injury but yourself. If you had kept your eyes on the ball, instead of fretting about your hair or about the chance of breaking a fingernail, your mishap would never have happened.’
‘George Brearly!’ Louisa exclaimed. ‘Watch what you are saying!’
‘It’s true,’ George asserted laughingly. ‘Face it, Agnes. You’re not the most nimble tennis player in the world. I’ve seen snails move faster than you.’
‘Right, that is it,’ Louisa fumed. ‘I do not want to hear one more word from you, George!’ She pointed a menacing finger at him. ‘You and your partner have done enough damage for one morning, most assuredly. Frances has already experienced the brunt of my wrath this week, following her exceedingly foolish escapade the other day. Don’t let yourself be next.’ She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. ‘Now enough of all that. We have come here today to discuss Christmas arrangements, and I am not leaving until we have.’
Having said this, she haughtily migrated to the table where they were to take their morning tea, and sat down. Agnes and Charlotte followed suit, and a short time later, everyone had taken their places at the table. Not surprisingly, the ostracised Frances and George sat at a distance from the group, and while Louisa burbled on about the necessity of having a formal Christmas, George proceeded to dismember the leaf of a pot plant that
was tickling the back of his neck.
‘Is it just me,’ George suddenly interrupted over the top of Louisa’s voice, ‘but does this room smell like dirt?’
Michael sighed. ‘We’re in a conservatory, George, and the room is filled with pot plants. What’s it supposed to smell like?’
‘I don’t know,’ George acknowledged. ‘I was just making conversation.’
‘Fascinating,’ Michael replied drolly. ‘Thank you for sharing that with us. Now, is there anything else you would like to contribute, or can Louisa finish what she was saying before you rudely interrupted her?’
George pretended to give Michael’s question some thought. ‘No, I think that pretty much covers it, although now that I have the centre stage, I just want to say that if Christmas this year is going to be a starchy, turkey eating, carol singing affair, I’m not coming.’
‘What a pity,’ Michael lied. ‘How could we possibly cope without you?’
‘However,’ George went on, smiling at his brother’s sarcastic remark, ‘I have some ideas that I’d like to share with everyone.’
‘If this is about that Christmas Day cruise on the Derwent River, George,’ Michael said, ‘then forget it. No-one’s bothered.’
George looked rather put out and turned to Frances for some immediate assistance. ‘And what are your thoughts on this, Frances? Do you like my idea?’
George’s use of Frances’s first name did not escape Louisa’s attention and she was not pleased. ‘Do not be so impertinent, young man,’ Louisa said, directing her comment to George. ‘You will address my niece as Miss Norwood.’
‘To tell you the truth, Mr Brearly,’ Frances ventured crisply, ‘I don’t care a fig about Christmas this year. I would be quite content to not celebrate it at all.’
Her comment had its desired effect, for within seconds the room was alive with the sounds of gasps of surprise.
‘Not celebrate Christmas!’ cried Louisa. ‘Stuff and nonsense!’
‘Miss Norwood,’ Michael added earnestly, ‘are you quite serious?’
Agnes folded her arms over her chest and stared menacingly at Frances. ‘I think my cousin is just trying to be controversial, as usual,’ she said in a withering voice. ‘Just ignore her.’ As she tossed her head, her fine sable coloured hair gleamed in the light.
In this instance Frances was trying to be controversial. She had always enjoyed Christmas, but at that moment her mood was too volatile to be placated. ‘Excuse me, Agnes, I’ll have you know that—’
‘Ladies, ladies!’ George butted in. ‘Please! We’re discussing Christmas arrangements here, not war. This is supposed to be enjoyable.’
Agnes opened her mouth to speak, but before she was able to reply, the sound of a loud meow startled her. She looked down and spotted Henry at her feet. ‘Oh, it’s that beastly cat!’ she declared, moving her legs away from where Henry was sitting. She looked apprehensively at Michael. ‘Michael, can you please get that thing away from me. I think it wants to attack me.’
‘He’s just being sociable,’ Michael said. ‘And anyhow, Henry doesn’t attack people.’
‘I don’t care, Michael. You know how much I hate cats.’
By this time, Henry had jumped up onto Frances’s lap and settled himself down. Frances smiled and looked over to Michael. For the first time since the tennis match, his face softened. Agnes intercepted this look and her face darkened. She quickly allowed the subject of Henry to drop.
An hour later the party gathered outside on the gravel drive, in front of Louisa’s carriage. The Christmas arrangements had finally been settled and Louisa, as was to be expected, had got her way. Christmas was to be a traditional affair, with all the formal trimmings, and it was not without some degree of triumph that Louisa retired to her conveyance.
A disgruntled George, meanwhile, refused to accept defeat gracefully, and lapsed into a sulky silence. Frances was the only person he was prepared to speak to, and while he impatiently waited for the other women to finish saying their goodbyes, he pulled Frances aside.
‘Well, Frances,’ he began, reverting once more to Frances’s given name, ‘the day didn’t turn out as I had hoped. And it had got off to such a promising start.’ He let out a loud, theatrical sigh.
‘Never mind,’ Frances replied. ‘We can’t expect to get our way all the time.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ George lamented. ‘Still I had a victory of sorts. The Boxing Day excursion to Port Arthur was my idea.’
‘And what about the Wintersleigh Ball on New Year’s Eve?’
George winced. ‘Louisa organises that wretched thing every year.’
Frances heard Louisa call out her name, and realised that Louisa was ordering her to hurry up and get inside the carriage. She moved forward, and was just about to put her foot on the step when George offered her his hand. She took it willingly, but instead of him assisting her into vehicle, he pulled her closer to him and murmured in her ear.
‘Before you go, Frances,’ he said hurriedly, ‘there’s something I need to ask you. Agnes and the tennis match. Was it an accident, or did you hit her deliberately?’
‘What do you think?’
George grinned. ‘I thought so.’
‘And as for your cheating,’ Frances continued in a confiding tone, ‘that line call we were disputing in the third game. It was in, wasn’t it?’
‘You bet. It was one of the best serves I’ve ever seen.’
This reply prompted laughter from both parties, and by the time the carriage trundled off for Wintersleigh a few minutes later, Frances was still chortling to herself.
Breakfast at Midnight Page 15
