Rapturous applause. But wait. More and better is to come. The rocket is followed by spurts of flame, blown into the air by two silhouetted heads, lips pursed and puffing. The flames intensify and now grit is being tossed upwards too, cascades of grit, larger and larger grit, and finally pebbles. Some of the pebbles are so large and thrown with such abandon that they land in the front ranks of the audience and are promptly thrown back. The chaos is total. Mount Edna bends under the onslaught, a gentleman has retrieved the rocket stick and is conducting the cheers, the lip of the crater appears to be on fire, it smoulders and sparks and is doused from the wings by a very full bucket of water, which overshoots the mark and drenches the red lanterns.
As a volcanic eruption the performance left rather a lot to be desired, but as a spectacle it was priceless. The three friends emerged into the gardens limp with laughter.
‘Where shall we go next?’ Caroline demanded.
But the trumpets were sounding for the opening ball, so there was no need to make a choice.
Dancing in the open air among all those magical lights was better than anything Caroline had ever experienced, especially as there was no need for caution in such a light-hearted crowd, and she could partner Henry as often as she wanted and he would ask. And she and Henry, and Will and Euphemia, and Matty and Jimmy, and dear old Nan and Mr Brougham were perfect company for an eightsome reel, even if Mr Brougham was a bit slow on the turn, and Bessie did scowl. Oh, it was a lovely ball.
And when the dancing was done, Nan winked at her and invited Henry to join them in the supper rooms, even though Bessie made furious faces to dissuade her, when she thought Caroline wasn’t looking. And supper was fun too, even if the food was mediocre and the service much too slow. Euphemia sat beside Will and consequently lost her appetite for anything but the sight of him. But Caroline was so happy she ate everything that was put before her.
After supper, despite quite frantic grimacing from Bessie, Nan said she couldn’t see any reason why her four young people shouldn’t go and sample the delights of the gardens with Jimmy and Matty, providing they all stayed together. So they went skipping off to the ‘attractions’.
They watched the famous Mr Green ascend in a balloon, which was ponderous and awkward and preferred dragging its handlers along the grass to actually rising into the air, and they saw a gentleman called Signor Joel perform amazing feats on a very high wire, and they attended the ballet of Spring and the Three Graces, who were too plump to be the least bit graceful and couldn’t spring more than two inches into the air however hard they tried. And towards midnight they all went romping off towards the central arbour because the fireworks were about to begin.
The fireworks were still being set in position when they arrived.
‘We shall be hanging about here for a precious long time, if I’m any judge,’ Will said. ‘Let’s go somewhere else, while we’re waiting.’
It was a sentiment shared by a large number of the audience who were already drifting off towards the arbours and walkways.
‘Perhaps Matty and I should remain here and wait for the rest of the party,’ Jimmy said.
‘As long as you don’t ask me to sit about,’ Caroline said.
‘Got the fidgets, ain’t you, Carrie,’ Will teased.
It was true. She was too charged with energy to sit still. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I want to walk to the end of that arbour.’
What she really wanted was a chance to put her secret plan into operation and to talk to Henry on her own, and this unexpected pause in the proceedings had suddenly given her the opportunity for both.
She waited until Will and Euphemia were several yards ahead of her in the arbour, with several other strollers between them. Then she began.
‘Shall you be at the final ball on Friday?’ Say yes, and then we can dance together again.
‘Without fail if you are to be there.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now tell me do, have you had any more commissions?’
‘I have to write a set of poems about the new railways,’ he told her. The pride and importance of it made the neat curves of his little moustache lift like wings.
‘What a curious subject,’ she said. ‘Railways ain’t poetical.’
‘Then I shall have to make them so.’
‘You will do it, I’m sure. And then you will be one step nearer to being an established poet and Papa will have to take you seriously.’
‘I am an established poet,’ he said. ‘I’ve been printed.’
‘Three odes in the Weekly Herald don’t make you a poet,’ she said, teasing him with her eyes. ‘A poet has books printed.’
‘Well then, so shall I,’ he promised. ‘You’ll see.’ Despite his pleasure at being with her he couldn’t help feeling rather huffy. There was no need for her to say such hurtful things. Sometimes she had no tact at all.
He was just opening his mouth to try and tell her so, when she suddenly seized his hand and ran into the undergrowth, pulling him so that he had to follow her. Which he did most willingly, although with considerable surprise. They pushed through the branches, into the inner darkness of the copse, their feet swishing over grass they couldn’t see, their free hands shielding their faces, and finally came to a halt behind the trunk of a sizeable hornbeam.
‘Why have we run away?’ he panted, still holding her hand. ‘What is it?’
‘Hush!’ she said, peering behind her through the trees. ‘I don’t want them to see and follow us.’
‘Who?’
‘Will and Euphemia,’ she said, still peering.
‘There is no one there,’ he said, after checking too. ‘They haven’t followed us. We are quite alone.’ What rapturous knowledge. He could kiss her, if she’d let him. Would she let him? Oh, if only she would. ‘But why have we run away from them?’
‘I want them to be entirely on their own together,’ she explained.
‘Why?’ Admiring her flushed cheeks and the splendid disorder of that dark hair.
‘Hush! It’s a secret,’ she said. ‘She loves him.’ He was holding both her hands now and they were so close to one another that she could see the reflection of a distant red lantern glowing in the pupils of his eyes. And how red and full his lips were, parted ready to speak and so close she could feel his breath before his words. Just looking at him was making her heart turn somersaults again.
‘I love you,’ he said. It was the natural thing to say. The undeniable truth.
‘Do you?’ she asked breathlessly. But she knew he did. His face was glowing with love.
‘Yes,’ he said, drawing her towards him. ‘So much.’ Now he knew how much. There was no doubt about it at all. He loved her and he would have to kiss her. The bounds of correct behaviour were far, far away from this magical bower among the leaves. Here there were no rules, only fascination and instinct and this marvellous unexpected privacy. He bent his head and kissed her gently, but full on the lips. And to his great delight she kissed him back. ‘Oh my dearest dearest Caroline.’
‘Oh, kiss me again do,’ she said, when he raised his head at last.
He needed no second bidding, but when they had kissed one another breathless he thought he ought to warn, ‘I should have spoken to your father first, you know, even if he don’t approve of me. Asked leave to court you and all that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t care,’ she said, brushing her mouth gently along his lower lip and delighted to feel that she was making him shiver.
‘You love me?’ he hoped, taut with the most exquisite desire for her.
‘Um.’
‘You will marry me?’ Was it possible? Would her father allow it?
‘Um. Kiss me again.’ She had surrendered herself to sensation. The most delicious sensation, that made her lips tingle and the whole of her body feel as if it were expanding and lifting, as if she were floating six inches above the ground. To be loved so, and by a poet too. It was a wonder she didn’t swoon. And on top of all this, she thought, as
he began to kiss her again, oh so slowly and luxuriously, she had given her dear brother the chance to declare his love to her dear, dear Pheemy.
In fact her dear brother was being horribly circumspect, walking at a respectable distance from Euphemia, and talking most properly of the high-wire act, and the balloon ascent, and those four well-upholstered dancers who had made them laugh so much. And finally telling her all about Mr Dickens’ amazing offer.
‘You will accept it of coursé,’ Euphemia said. ‘What an honour to be sought out by Mr Dickens.’
‘It would mean leaving the firm,’ he said.
‘You have given the firm good service all these years,’ she said. ‘Mrs Easter would release you, I’m sure.’
But the problem was Mr John Easter as both of them knew just a little too well.
‘Edward is in better humour at last,’ he said, changing the subject.
‘He should be happy now,’ she said. ‘Being married. It must be a great happiness to be married.’
His answer was unequivocal. ‘Marriage doesn’t always make people happy, Euphemia. In fact, most of the married people I know are jolly unhappy.’
That seemed very harsh. ‘Jimmy and Matty are very happy and they love one another dearly,’ she pointed out gently.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But in some ways that is even more dangerous.’
‘Dangerous, Will?’
‘There are so many dangers in love,’ he explained seriously. ‘You might marry and then be unhappy, like Edward, which is bad enough, in all conscience. Or you might marry and be happy for a time and then lose your loved one, which would be a great deal worse. Think of it. I can remember how awful I felt when mother died and I can tell you there is nothing more dreadful. Oh no, if you have any sense, Euphemia, you will avoid marriage altogether.’
The words struck at her like an ice-cold wind. ‘But you can’t help loving people, Will.’
His firmness increased. ‘Yes you can,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter of will power, that’s all. And good sense, of course. Oh no, it’s much better to remain single, believe me, to keep away from Aunt Matilda’s match-making and spend your time with your friends. Or your sisters.’
She was gazing at him attentively, looking extremely pretty in her green and blue gown, with her skin so creamy and her red hair glowing and those nice brown eyes shining in the lantern light, almost as though they were full of tears. A very pretty sister, he thought, and excellent company. Better by far than any sweetheart.
‘Besides,’ he said, ‘You might love someone who didn’t love you. Think how painful that would be.’
Oh it is, it is, she thought, sinking deeper and deeper into unhappiness. He doesn’t love me, she grieved, and yet she ached to hold his arm and to tell him how very much she loved him. He will never love me. I am nothing to him except a sister, someone to confide in and dance with but not to marry. Oh, what is to become of me, when I love him so much? And the pain of it crushed her chest and made her feel bleak and alone as she had done on the long voyage back to England all those years ago. And she couldn’t think of anything to say to him at all.
She was very glad when the band struck up the first notes of Handel’s firework music to announce that the display was about to begin and they were caught up in the jostle of the returning crowd. She found herself a seat between Nan and Matty because she simply couldn’t bear the torment of being beside him for another minute, then was torn with misery because he was talking to Jimmy and didn’t notice what she’d done.
And so the evening came to a fire-spitting end, and the two girls drove home in velvet darkness to the quietness of their rose and white bedroom.
Caroline could barely wait for the maids to leave the room before she spilled out her good news. ‘Pheemy! Dear dear Pheemy! I’m going to marry Henry Easter.’
‘Caroline!’ Euphemia said, torn by surprise and shock and delight, and, it had to be admitted, a searing, shameful envy. ‘How can you be? Has he spoken to your father?’
‘He’s spoken to me,’ Caroline said, wielding her hairbrush like a rake. ‘And I’ve said yes. So Papa will have to agree now, won’t he? He’ll have to agree and stop being foolish. Oh Pheemy, I’m so happy, you’d never believe.’
‘Oh I would, I would,’ poor Euphemia said and then her emotions overcame her and she put her head in her hands and burst into tears.
Caroline threw down her hairbrush and rushed across the room to fling her arms about her friend. ‘Pheemy! Dearest! What is it?’ she said.
‘It is nothing,’ Euphemia sobbed. ‘I am being foolish. Nothing. Nothing at all. Oh dear oh dear!’
‘You must tell me all about it, whatever it is,’ Caroline insisted. ‘I cannot have my darling in tears. Not when I’m so happy. And there’s an end of it.’
And so she was told all about Will’s terrible philosophy, haltingly at first and then in more and more painful detail. ‘I love him so much,’ Euphemia ended, ‘and he will never love me. Never ever.’
‘Well, he must,’ his sister said fiercely. ‘I shall speak to him about it.’ To behave like that after all her cunning in leaving them alone together. It was too bad. It really was.
The very idea terrified poor Euphemia. ‘Oh don’t,’ she pleaded. ‘I beg you, Carrie. Please don’t. I should be shamed before everybody. If he doesn’t love me, and I know he doesn’t, there’s nothing you or I can do about it. You can’t force love, my darling.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Caroline said. ‘Well, he’s a fool. That’s all I can say. We must work on him subtly, and make him change his mind. At least he ain’t in love with someone else.’
But it was poor consolation, and Euphemia wept more hopeless tears before the two of them finally settled to sleep.
She was still pale and unhappy when they came down to breakfast the next morning. Will had been up more than three hours, as he told them cheerfully, and had gone to the stamping and come home again while they were still abed.
‘You have the constitution of an ox,’ Nan said, laughing at him.
‘And the temperament of a mule,’ his sister reproved, despite warning glances from Euphemia.
‘Try the bacon rolls,’ he said, not in the least annoyed. ‘They’re capital.’ And he returned to his paper.
Caroline was just thinking up some stinging rebuke for him when the door opened and Bessie came in, looking horribly anxious.
‘If you please, mum,’ she said to Nan, ‘Mr John’s back from York and he’s sent the carriage for Caroline. She’s to go to Fitzroy Square directly, he says. Tom’s to wait.’
‘So early in the morning?’ Nan said, frowning at the news. What was the matter? she wondered.
‘Yes, mum. He was most particular, Tom says.’
Something is wrong, Caroline thought and foreboding wriggled in her chest. But she put on a brave face. ‘If that’s the way of it,’ she said, ‘I’d best be off at once. It wouldn’t do to keep him waiting, would it Bessie?’
‘No, my lovey,’ Bessie said sympathetically, ‘I don’t think it would.’
Chapter 13
The twenty minutes it took to drive Caroline Easter to Fitzroy Square were the longest twenty minutes of her life.
She had woken that morning still warm from a dream of remembered pleasures, dancing an eightsome reel with Henry’s hands holding hers so lovingly, standing before him in that Turkish tent with the warmth of his body behind her, kissing him again and again in their lovely private darkness, hearing him say ‘I love you’. The joy of it! She had dressed in a daze of happiness, convinced that it would only be a matter of time before she could persuade her father to allow Henry’s courtship. And now this terrible summons, which was bound to be about Henry. What else could it be? There was such speed and anger in it, and she had disobeyed. She couldn’t deny it. In fact she’d gone much much further than any proper young lady would ever have done, allowing Henry to kiss her like that. You weren’t even supposed to hold a young gentleman’s arm
until you were engaged. Not that Papa could possibly know anything about those lovely kisses, and they were lovely kisses. It made her warm to remember them. But he couldn’t, could he? They’d been quite private inside their leafy bower. Hidden from everybody. But she was alarmed about it just the same, and the nearer she got to Fitzroy Square the more anxious she felt. By the time she arrived outside her father’s dowdy house and Tom handed her out of the carriage she was shivering with apprehension.
And the shiver became a shudder when she was ushered into the drawing room and saw the anger that was stiffening her father’s spine and had removed all expression from his face. Oh dear, oh dear, whatever it was, it was going to be terrible.
‘Sit down,’ he said. No ‘Good morning’, no ‘Caroline dear’, nothing. Just ‘sit down’.
She sat in the corner chair beside the window, unconsciously putting as. great a distance between herself and her father as she could.
‘What I have to say to you is not pleasant,’ he told her. ‘You are a disappointment to me, Caroline, a grievous disappointment.’
Tell me quickly, she thought. Tell me quickly and get it over with.
‘Where were you yesterday evening?’ he said.
‘I was at the Vauxhall Gardens, Papa. With Nan and Will and Euphemia.’
‘And other company?’
She told him the truth. ‘Henry Easter was with us, too, Papa. Nan invited him to supper.’
He was so angry his nose was pinched white. What folly, he thought. How could Mama be so foolish as to encourage this nonsense? Was it any wonder that the child behaved badly when her own grandmother set her such a bad example?
‘At least you are honest enough to admit it,’ he said, ‘but not wise enough to behave with propriety whilst you were there, or so it would appear.’
Her heart contracted with fear. What does he know? she thought. He couldn’t know that surely. Oh what does he know? ‘I behaved as others were behaving Papa.’
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