Eventually, Elspeth pulled her to the front of the room, where Marnie's former neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Turner, sat on a bright pink silk-covered sofa.
"I've prepared a little treat, Marnie dear," Elspeth said. "Why don't you take this spot next to the Turners, mmm? You'll have a wonderful view of the pianoforte."
Marnie lowered herself gingerly onto the sofa, forcing herself to smile.
"How are you, dear?" said Mrs. Turner.
"Very well, thank you," said Marnie, distracted by the pulsing in her bottom.
"Are you sure?" said Mr. Turner. "You look a little—overheated!"
"It is rather close in here, I suppose," said Marnie.
She glanced up and caught the major's eye. He was staring intently at her in a way that made Marnie feel a rush of warmth to her sex. Elspeth was busily directing where everyone should sit. She had placed the major far across the room. Major Chance raised his eyebrow and smiled, but Marnie felt too irritated to return his look. She directed her attention back to the Turners.
"It seems we are about to have some entertainment," she said stiffly. Small talk had never been her strong point.
To her surprise, the Turners glanced meaningfully at one another.
But there was no time for Marnie to ask what they meant by their look. Elspeth was standing by the pianoforte, knocking a sugar-spoon against the rim of her glass of claret to signal for silence. When a hush fell, she said, "There, now. How wonderful of all of you to be here this evening to meet our guest of honour, Major James Chance!"
A polite ripple of applause went through the audience.
"Major, would you mind stepping forward?" said Elspeth in her most cajoling voice.
The major rose, gallant as ever, and stood by her.
"I would now like to call my sister forward—where is she?"
That's odd, Marnie thought. I'm sitting right in front of her. Marnie raised her hand and waved it. Elspeth ignored her.
"Ah, there you are!" she cried. "Wherever did you get to, Lippy? We are all waiting anxiously for you!"
"Pardon me! Pardon me!" said Lippy as she picked her way through the crowd. "I'm so sorry to keep you all waiting. I didn't hear the call. I was in the other room!"
It was evident to Marnie that the 'other room' Lippy had found was a dressing room. Her cheeks were redder, her gown a little lower, and the waft of violets was stronger than ever.
"Now, I have the most wonderful announcement for you all," said Elspeth. "You will be most delighted to hear that Lippy has agreed to play the pianoforte for us. And not just a single number. A whole repertoire!"
"Oh no, Mama! She drones on forever!" cried little Elizabeth Talbot, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Elspeth ignored her. "And as a special honour, I will allow Major Chance, as this evening's special guest, to turn the pages of Lippy's music. What do you say, Major?"
"How could I refuse?" said Major Chance. Again, he looked for Marnie, but Marnie was staring hard at the floor, her hands balled in her lap. She had not wanted this party. She had not wanted anything to do with this entire ludicrous situation. But now that she was here, it was outrageous for Elspeth to set her aside—to humiliate her, deliberately—in front of almost everyone she knew and many people she didn't. What was she playing at? Marnie clenched her jaw in frustration. She had to fight the urge to fly from the room.
As the first chord of the pianoforte rang out, she let out a deep sigh and sank back into the couch. Mrs. Turner gave her a sympathetic pat on the knee and then leaned over. "I find it helps to count backwards from one thousand," she said. "And when you get to zero, start again."
Marnie looked up to see the major's handsome figure bent over her younger sister. It was as though she was seeing a vision of him attending to a more comely, sweet version of herself. Someone everyone seemed to like. Someone everyone approved of. Someone accomplished. Someone nice. The thought sent bile rising in her throat.
She watched through one tune and then another. In desperation, she found herself using Mrs. Turner's trick and counting down…1000, 999, 998, 997…it was no good. The rage she felt made her vision blur. And when her sister's thin reedy voice croaked through a high note, Marnie gripped the sofa's arm so hard she made a tiny tear with her fingernails in the bright pink silk.
Lippy was not a terrible singer. Nor was she dreadful at the pianoforte. But neither was she excellent or even very good. She was a serviceable singer, carrying the tune with a schooled, soft voice, and a competent pianist, finding the notes with practiced fingers and not making any mistakes.
However, there was nothing particularly compelling in her performance, either, and competence was not enough to make a performance the duration of Lippy's tolerable. She played and played, tune after tune—"Fairy Wedding Waltz", "The Wreck of the Hesperus", "Ora Pro Nobis", "Alice, Where Art Thou?"—as well as several pieces Marnie did not recognise.
Marnie found she could barely keep her temper in check. Sitting still was always difficult for her, but listening to her sister warbling on while everyone watched politely was truly execrable. She tried to meet the major's eye, but he stood dutifully still, handsome as a statue, with his hands clasped behind his back.
Marnie sighed again in frustration and received a fleeting sympathetic glance from Mrs. Turner. She squirmed in her seat, which only made her feel the pressure from the trainer in her bottom more keenly. Surely, Lippy must be about to finish. It was getting late.
Lippy finished a rendition of "Love's Old Sweet Song" and then went to rise from the piano. There was palpable relief in the room, and a light smattering of applause broke out. But Lippy quelled it by waving her hands.
"Oh, you are all too kind, too kind," she said. "I feel I could play all night!"
No one cried encore. The room remained silent.
"Anyway," Lippy went on, unperturbed. "I'm afraid I only have one number left. But it is a special treat, even if I do say so myself. You see, this is a composition of my very own. Not the first—I believe I have been composing since I was a small girl. But it is the first I have performed for an audience. So, I beg you, please be kind."
Someone coughed as Lippy resumed her place; the room was otherwise silent. She took a deep breath and began to play. After a few bars of melancholy music, she began to sing, closing her eyes.
The song was about a fair, lonely maid gathering hawthorn in a meadow. The maid sang of her loneliness as she waited for her true love to come along. Marnie felt herself bristle at the words her sister had composed.
O! For is it not plain to see
That my sisters, though lovely
Are not so fresh in years as me
And have not my portion of beauty....
Marnie began counting backwards once more…1000, 999, 998, 997…but it was no good. Everything enraged her further, Lippy's little fingers on the keys, her high voice neither pleasant nor unpleasant, her artificially reddened cheeks. And most of all, Major Chance standing there, part of the whole farcical performance. In fact, did he not seem to be enjoying Lippy's song? Why, Marnie thought—he was smiling!
Major Chance had dutifully been turning the pages, but there was no sheaf of music for Lippy's own composition, and so he was left standing and listening as Lippy launched into the second verse.
O yes, I have been so lonely
But now you will be my only...
At this point, Lippy's eyes opened and she twisted her neck to look at the major. He continued smiling and staring at the pianoforte. Marnie's stomach twisted. It seemed unbelievable to her that he would simply stand there, smiling inanely, while such insults went unchecked.
Suddenly, the rage surged within her so intensely that she felt it rising in her throat. Her face prickled, her chest felt constricted. Her eyes felt as if they were boiling. She couldn't breathe. She had to get out of that room.
Marnie was no longer concerned about disturbing her sister's performance. She didn't care that she was at the front of the r
oom in full view of everyone or that Mrs. Jones was surely in the crowd, watching her every move. She was sick of the party and sick of everyone in it. She was sick of adhering to rules that restricted her behaviour while allowing others to behave horribly. She was not cut out to be polite in the face of boorishness. She would, she thought in a flash of rage, rather meet it with some boorishness of her own.
She stood, wincing with the pressure of the trainer. She felt heads turn as she walked past the Turners—Mrs. Turner giving her a brief, envious glance—and then picked her way through the crowd, stepping past one person and then another, stumbling, whispering 'pardon me', and 'excuse me', until she finally reached the parlour's door. She pulled it open and looked back to see an expression on the major's face she couldn't read.
Well, to hell with him! Marnie thought.
She let the oak door close behind her and leaned against it for a moment. The wood was cool and smooth and solid, and she was glad to lean for a moment and catch her breath.
The rage still swirled within her. She looked around at the Talbots' townhouse—its overstuffed furniture, gold cherubs and the vases choked with flowers everywhere she looked. Is this what she was signing up for by agreeing to marry the major? Sitting around all day talking about upholstery and whether there would be goose or pheasant for dinner? Being the lady of a stuffy, fussy place such as this?
Besides, it seemed that the major was only too happy to transfer his affections to Lippy. Evidently, Elspeth and Lippy had concocted some sort of plot to achieve just this aim. And, Marnie thought, he hadn't exactly resisted, had he?
And, why would he? she thought.
Lippy was sweet, while she was rude.
Lippy was pretty, while she was scruffy.
Lippy was accomplished, while Marnie's only skill was riding her horse.
She brought her hands to her face. What was the point in trying to fit into a role when she was destined to fail?
Unenthused applause came from the drawing room. Lippy must have finally finished. It would now be time to return to the academy, for more lessons, more punishments, more being told that she had done the wrong thing, even though all she had done was what felt natural and right.
Blast it all! Marnie thought.
She caught sight, then, of the oil portrait of the Talbot family that hung in the entrance hall. There they were, Mr. Talbot, Mrs. Talbot, Elizabeth and Isabel. All of them looking plump and self-satisfied. Elspeth's painted likeness seemed to be laughing at her with its shining, piggy eyes.
Rage overflowed inside Marnie. She marched up to the wall where the portrait was hung and dragged the bench beneath it out of the way. She then hauled the portrait down off the wall. She had always been a strong girl, but she found that she staggered under the weight of the painting in its gilt frame. In fact, she only barely managed to lift it high over her head and bring it down over her knee, tearing a huge hole straight through the portrait's centre.
Marnie let the ruined portrait drop to the ground.
She turned around and realised that the whole party, it seemed, had left the drawing room. There were the Turners. There was a surprised looking Mr. Talbot, a purse-mouthed Elspeth, Lippy looking as happy as Marnie had ever seen her.
And there, at the back of the crowd, was the major. Before Marnie could see his expression, Mrs. Jones had seized her arm and whisked her outside. Marnie, still furious, clambered into the waiting carriage and threw herself down on its seat, wincing as she felt a shot of pain from the trainer.
As she was leaving, she cast a final glance at the drawing room window. There was Elspeth and Lippy and the major, standing together and talking like old friends.
Chapter 10
Marnie's anger had dissipated, leaving her with a dull, empty feeling. She knew she was in for a dreadful punishment. But she was too exhausted to care.
Even so, Marnie was surprised when they arrived back at the academy and Mrs. Jones simply prepared her for bed without giving her any sort of punishment at all.
After her chaperone turned down the counterpane and briskly patted the bed, Marnie could not bear the suspense any longer.
"Mrs. Jones," she said carefully and quietly. "Are you not—will I not be punished?"
Mrs. Jones laughed a cold laugh that sent shivers down Marnie's spine.
"Dear me, Miss Stowe. Rest assured—you have not avoided punishment. It is late and the school is sleeping. Besides, your punishment will be greater than anything I can administer here and now in this room. It will have to wait until tomorrow. I hope you enjoy reflecting on what it might be. Expect to be summoned to Miss Robin's in the morning."
Mrs. Jones said no more. Marnie was put to bed with substantial trainers both in her mouth and bottom, her wrists secured to the bedhead. Once asleep, she was troubled by dreams of what the morning might bring.
The summons came during morning lessons. Marnie had not wanted to eat her breakfast but had forced herself to swallow her porridge and tea, knowing that Mrs. Jones was watching her every move. She was seated opposite Georgie, who made it obvious she was dying to speak to her friend about what had occurred at the party the previous evening—she continually tried to catch Marnie's eye. But Marnie avoided her friend's inquiring gaze.
Once breakfast passed, she attended lessons and tried to concentrate, but she couldn't. When the sound of a knock at the door came and the teacher, Mrs. Eldridge, called, "Who's there?" Marnie saw Mrs. Jones' tall silhouette through the milk-glass panels of the door and almost felt relief.
She followed Mrs. Jones to Miss Robin's office, stepped over the threshold, and took a seat opposite Miss Robin's desk. Mrs. Jones took the seat beside her.
Miss Robin was the same as ever, a small, neat figure in her crimson dress and wire-framed spectacles, her shining hair swept into a low chignon.
"Miss Stowe," she began. "Here you are again."
Marnie had thought about what she would say. If Miss Robin could only understand—how infuriating her sisters were, how close and airless the environment in that parlour, how outrageously she had been treated—surely, she would show some compassion?
"Miss Robin," she said. "You must understand. The way I was treated at that party—it was abominable. Anyone would have been pushed past what their patience could be expected to endure—"
"Please stop, Miss Stowe," said Miss Robin. "Mrs. Jones has furnished me with a detailed account of the evening's events. I believe I understand perfectly what has transpired. It is unfortunate that you were not able to show a little more fortitude. I knew that the evening might present some particular challenges for you—that is one of the reasons I allowed you to go. If you had returned home successfully, I planned to grant a special request which had been sent to me."
"Request?" Marnie asked.
"Here, see for yourself. I don't think there can be any harm in showing you."
She reached into her bureau drawer and retrieved a letter, which she held out to Marnie. Marnie almost snatched it from Miss Robin's fingers. She slipped it from its envelope and began to read the large, looping, slanted writing.
Dear Miss Robin,
I trust this letter finds you well—I hope as steely and clear-sighted as ever. I write to make a particular, unorthodox request of you, and as I know you despise fawning and obsequiousness—as all right-minded people do—I will simply come straight to the point and ask it.
I would like to conduct a private visitation with my fiancé, Miss Marnie Stowe, away from the premises of your academy. I can imagine your hesitation and the very right and good reasons for it. However, I imagine it is also abundantly clear to you that Marnie is a girl of the fields and trees, not parlours and ballrooms. It is one of the many reasons I find her completely enchanting. But, like a troublesome horse confined to a stable too long, she is only made more recalcitrant from her complete lack of freedom. She needs to be taken into the fresh air and allowed a little free rein. I believe she will be much happier and less quarrelsome, for i
t.
Besides, I should very much like to introduce her to my actual horse, Bess, who I consider not only a working animal but a dear, dear friend. If there is going to be another lady in my life, I think I should allow them to make one another's acquaintance.
Miss Robin, it is not flattery to say that you have a fine sense of judgement—it is a mere statement of fact. I know whatever decision you make in this regard will be the correct one. I can only hope the choice falls in my favour.
Yours in friendship,
J. Chance.
"Very charming, your Major Chance," said Miss Robin, a hint of a wry smile on her lips. "He is right, I believe that you would benefit from some time outside. In fact, I find him so convincing that I was on the very cusp of relaxing one of my most stringent rules."
Marnie's mind was racing. Her heart had swelled when reading the letter. It showed that the major did understand her. And not only that, the things others found so disagreeable about her—her temper, her energy, her need for action, her love of the outdoors—were the very things he valued. Tears threatened, and she bit them back.
"I have ruined this, haven't I, Miss Robin?" she said. "You would have agreed, and now you won't, and I have no one to blame but myself. I have been rash and foolish." Her face flushed deeply. "I am sure it makes no difference, but I am ashamed," she said. "I don't know why I cannot learn patience. I suppose I am destined to be unhappy."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Miss Robin. "There is no need for self-pity, and besides, it's not a practice I have a habit of indulging."
She sighed.
"You know you will be punished for your behaviour last night. There is simply no way around that. Your conduct was appalling. I am awaiting the bill for the painting's repair. If it can be repaired."
"Yes, Miss Robin,"
"However, I am willing to offer you a certain set of terms. A kind of gentlewomen's agreement. That is this. I, with Mrs. Jones' assistance, have designed a punishment specifically with you and your development in mind. It is one of the most difficult punishments I have yet conceived for any of my Privettes. If you endure your punishment for the entirety of its term and in all its permutations, however you may feel about their appropriateness or severity—if your behaviour is exemplary, your conduct infallible, your manners excellent during the entire process—why, then I shall grant the major's request happily."
A Major of Marnie (Miss Robin's Academy Book 3) Page 11
