Breakfast at Midnight

by Fiona MacFarlane

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  George’s Confession

  Louisa, not surprisingly, was in an excitable mood by the time she left Riverview, and from the New Town tram-stop to the shops in the town centre, she talked scathingly of Edwina and of her ‘vexing’ guests. The shopping expedition only marginally improved her spirits, (although she wished she had brought a servant with her to carry her purchases) and by the time Frances and Louisa arrived at Rosewood, laden with innumerable parcel and bags, Louisa was sullen and unresponsive. George Brearly’s appearance at the front door did nothing to improve Louisa’s disposition, and after he assailed her with derogatory remarks about shopping and shoppers in general, Louisa was even more irritable.

  ‘So, Louey,’ George persevered, ‘what delightful presents have you bought me for Christmas? Clothes? Cigarettes? Something to match my new lounge suit?’ He cocked his head as though he was trying to read Louisa’s thoughts. ‘It better not be socks again, Louisa. You know how I feel about socks.’

  Louisa subsided miserably into her chair by the drawing room window. ‘I will give you prior warning, George,’ she said, waving a finger at him, ‘I am in no countenance this afternoon for your childish bantering. We understand that there has been a death in the family. We have therefore come specifically to visit Michael, not you. Now kindly fetch him for us, before I lose my patience.’

  George simply stared. ‘Well, you sure know how to make a man feel wanted,’ he said, pretending to be offended by her assertion. ‘Don’t beat about the bush. Just tell me how you really feel.’ He winked at Frances and propelled himself into a chair beside her. ‘By Jove,’ he whispered, leaning closer towards Frances, ‘what’s up your aunt’s blouse?’

  ‘She was caught stealing some lavender cuttings,’ Frances explained.

  George sniggered. ‘Serves her right,’ he muttered. ‘Dotty old bat.’

  Frances smiled. Unlike her aunt, she was in good humour, buoyed by Edwina Ballard’s offer of employment, amused by the lavender incident, and strengthened by George’s presence.

  ‘Well, George,’ Louisa ventured. ‘Is Michael here or not?’

  ‘I thank you for your polite inquiry, Louey, but I’m afraid he’s indisposed at the moment.’

  ‘Indisposed? And what exactly is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘He’s burying his cat out in the lavender garden.’

  Frances gasped. ‘Oh poor Henry!’ she exclaimed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I suppose you’re bound to hear about it sooner or later,’ George said. ‘I am the culprit responsible for cutting short Henry’s promising little life. I…er, flattened him with Michael’s carriage.’

  Frances let out a cry. ‘Oh, how horrible!’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ George admitted. ‘Awfully messy indeed. Still haven’t cleaned the remains off the wheels. Doubt I ever will.’ In the background Louisa was shaking her head in silent disapproval.

  ‘And how did you manage that?’ Frances asked. ‘Cats are frightened of loud noises.’

  ‘That’s what I thought too. Apparently Henry is, rather was deaf in one ear.’ He began nibbling his fingernails. ‘I tried to explain to Michael that Henry had a noble end, but Michael wouldn’t listen to me. He thought it was perfectly ignoble. Still, what can you do? I tried apologising, but he wouldn’t hear of that either. He hasn’t spoken to me since last night. That’s when it happened.’

  ‘I am not surprised,’ Louisa remarked ill-naturedly. ‘You are such a thoughtless boy.’

  George’s smile belied his inner annoyance. ‘Well I can see that your respect for me is forever increasing, but honestly, Louey, you should learn to control your feelings. I know I’m irresistible, but I must tell you now that my heart belongs to someone else.’ He glanced earnestly towards Frances. ‘I proposed to your niece a few days ago, and she accepted me.’

  Frances cast him a sharp glance. ‘No you didn’t!’ she cried. ‘And even if you did propose to me, I would undoubtedly reject you.’

  ‘You would?’ George said, looking rather baffled.

  ‘I’m not ready to marry,’ Frances explained, ‘and what’s more, I’d defy any man to put up with me.’

  ‘I could put up with you,’ George said, watching her with undisguised admiration.

  Frances tingled with pleasure. ‘It should also be said, Mr Brearly, that I have too much taste and sense to succumb to your charms.’

  Louisa, meanwhile, had observed the entirety of this playful repartee, and was growing more uneasy by the second. She was well acquainted with George’s disgraceful past associations with women, and feared that Frances was about to become his latest object. The last thing Louisa wanted was for someone like George Brearly to have designs on her niece. As chaperone, it was her duty to protect Frances from unwelcome and assiduous attentions.

  ‘Mercy, George,’ Louisa thundered. ‘Leave Frances alone!’

  ‘By Jove, keep your hair on!’ George said, trying not to laugh. ‘I was only having a bit of a lark.’

  ‘You are not amusing when you trifle with people’s feelings, George,’ Louisa explained. ‘Particularly a woman’s,’ she added, delivering him a meaningful look.

  ‘I’m afraid to say,’ George said, turning towards Frances, ‘that there are some people in this world who are completely destitute of a sense of humour. Your aunt is one of those people.’

  ‘And some people,’ a man’s voice interrupted, ‘are completely devoid of manners.’

  The drawing room occupants looked towards the doorway and discovered Michael Brearly leaning against the open door. His thin, summer shirt, slightly open at the neck, was smeared with dirt.

  ‘George,’ Michael continued, ‘have you offered our guests refreshments yet?’

  George rolled his eyes. ‘No.’

  Michael went across the room impatiently, rang for a servant then installed himself into a chair on the other side of Frances. As he sat down, he smiled tentatively at her. He was clearly pleased to see her.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear about Henry,’ she whispered to him.

  He smiled appreciatively. ‘I’m glad somebody is.’

  For the next fifteen minutes or so a desultory conversation ensued. Michael, for obvious reasons, said very little, as did Frances, who was still considering Edwina Ballard’s offer. The afternoon tea was brought in, and as each member of the party helped themselves to tea and muffins, a distinct tapping sound was heard coming from the French windows. An inquisitive Louisa, sitting closest to the window, edged forward in her chair and peered out curiously through the glass. Suddenly, a face appeared through the window, and for some seconds she was staring into the eyes of another person. A startled Louisa recoiled from the sight of the stranger, and moved back so quickly from the window that she spilt the entire contents of her cup of tea down her gown. She let out a cry of pain, and in the next moment, the entire room was in uproar. Voices were raised, furniture was moved and handkerchiefs were used to soak up the tea stains.

  In the ensuing minutes of confusion, George Brearly made a hasty departure, and when he returned to the room, he was accompanied by the blonde-headed Jack Maycroft, the muddy-faced miscreant, aged all of six years and three months.