Magic and Manners (An Austen Chronicle Book 1)

by CE Murphy

  “It will be as you wish,” promised Mr Webber, who retreated then to Rosamund’s side and sat wondering into what drama he had stepped, and how best to tender his apologies to Mr Dover’s evident offence. He could not ask, though, for Elsabeth and Rosamund were deep in quiet discussion of Archer’s presence at the Hartnell wedding, and this topic brought such pleasure to Mr Webber’s heart that he was glad to dwell on it instead of the seeming unpleasantries bubbling beneath the surface of the Dover household.

  “His cousin Miss Derrington is to be married soon,” Webber offered. “We are not much acquainted with her, but perhaps we might invite her to our dance; the distance from Charington Place is not so very great as to keep her away! She might stay on a week or so; not too long, with her marriage pending, but a little while before she is away to Africa forever! I think Julia would like it, now that she herself has determined not to marry and there is no longer conflict betwixt her and Miss Derrington over Archer. Shall I ask?”

  “I should like very much to see Miss Derrington again,” Elsabeth replied slowly, “but she is a lady of great leisure, and I should hate to put her out, or cause Mr Archer any feeling that he himself might be expected to attend. Moreover, I am disinclined to offer Leopoldina any more glorious Society than we can rouse from Bodton; she does not deserve it, and although I doubt she will ever take note of any censure, neither would I be happy to show her any degree of evident approval.”

  “I will explain later,” Rosamund murmured to Mr Webber, whose growing expression of consternation cleared into instant satisfaction. “In the meantime, we might issue an invitation for her to visit before she leaves for Africa, without including the pressure of the dance in our invitation. Then she and Elsabeth might have an opportunity to say their farewells in person, and yet avoid any unnecessary expectations of performing in public if she is disinclined to do so.”

  “Perfect. I should never have considered it myself; what ever would I do without you, Mrs Webber?” Mr Webber’s smile was one of perfect happiness, and Elsabeth, despite all her own cares, was glad to smile at them both, and to hold Rosamund’s hand as she confessed, “It is a relief to me that you have returned, Rosa. I would not burden you for the world, but to know you are nearby steadies me immeasurably. I feel we may all even survive Leopoldina, although I must write to Aunt Felicity and ask her what part Mr Archer has had in all of this, as I should never have imagined him willing to stand for Captain Hartnell.”

  “You may ask him yourself,” Mr Webber said with an air of triumph. “I will invite him to Newsbury for our dance.”

  Elsabeth’s smile became pained. “Please, hear Leopoldina’s story from Rosamund first. You will then know why I feel some reluctance at encouraging you in that endeavour; suffice it to say I do not believe Mr Archer’s sense of propriety would make it comfortable for him to attend a dance held, however loosely, in Dina’s honour.”

  Mr Webber’s questioning gaze lingered on Rosamund, who nodded, and he acquiesced at once. Their little party fell into silence, making Leopoldina’s stories all the more the centre of attention; Elsabeth, in only a very little time, could no longer bear it, and rose to make her way out of the sitting room. To her surprise, Matilda followed to ask in a low, unhappy voice, “She is very dreadful, is she not? And I have been very like her.”

  “You were,” Elsabeth replied with more honesty than gentleness. “You were very like her, but I should say this past year has changed you, Tildy. We had all hoped it might change Dina, but if it did, it was only to make her more like herself. And perhaps the same has happened to you: perhaps you have grown out of her shadow and into yourself, and found that you are a steadier soul than she. Indeed, with her less your star, there are things I would like to share with you, Matilda! I have learnt so much of sorcery, and some of it so recently—”

  “Did I hear you speak of sorcery?” asked Captain Hartnell, emerging from the sitting room. “What could you have learnt, Elsabeth? I may call you Elsabeth now, may I not, as you are my sister? And where might you have learnt it?”

  “From a doctor of war,” Elsabeth replied truthfully enough. “Where do Army men learn their magic, Captain Hartnell? On the battlefield, or are you steeped in knowledge through study? I should like to see that: a regiment of scarlet, heads bent over scraps of paper like schoolboys. But it is easier to imagine military magic being tested in fire, although what use saving a falling bridge might be in battle, I do not know.”

  “Of great use,” Hartnell conceded. “A bridge is always a vulnerable point, and its possession or destruction can turn the tide of a battle. What doctor?”

  “Oh, a Doctor Thomas, or perhaps Hart; I can no longer recall clearly. I am sure he spoke to other officers at a ball and that I listened unashamedly. He spoke of creating a cannon ball from no more than mud and stones! Surely, that cannot be done, Captain; it is certainly not within my own providence.”

  “Nor should it be; a woman’s magical arts ought to be gentler stuff. But it can be done, sister, and then thrown at such velocity as to have been ejected from a cannon. It is not an explosive; that requires another magic, and an incendiary device, but it is often not the explosion that causes the most damage in war. Doctor Thomas, you say? I do not know him.”

  “There must be hundreds of doctors in the army, Captain,” Elsa replied disingenuously. “You cannot expect to know all of them, can you?”

  “There are hundreds,” Hartnell agreed, “but only a dozen or two who might know anything of magic, and those I am acquainted with should have more sense than to speak of military secrets in public.”

  Elsabeth clasped a hand to her heart. “Military secrets! Oh, Captain Hartnell, I should never have thought of it that way! I shall endeavour to say no more; how dreadful to think I may have inadvertently learnt or spoken of something that ought not be widely known! I am a-flutter and must lie down. Matilda, help me to my room.”

  Matilda, astonished, did as she was bid and, upon arriving in Elsabeth’s room, gaped at her in bewilderment. “You became Leopoldina, Elsa; I have never seen you so lack-witted in your life.”

  “I would not share my new knowledge of sorcery with him at any cost, Tildy, nor tell him whence it came. He is no more trustworthy than—” Here her imagination failed her and she nearly stomped a foot in exasperation. “He is not trustworthy. You must not reveal any of what I will tell or teach you to him, Matilda, nor to Dina. No: I am sorry, but Dina can no more hold her tongue than Mamma, and in the matter of magic, they cannot be given any greater knowledge than that which is native to them.”

  “Mamma has no magic,” Matilda protested in confusion, and Elsabeth, hardly allowing herself to speak above a breath, said, “Thank heavens. Now, let me acquaint you with what I know, on the pain of your silence to Mr and Mrs Hartnell.”

  “It should be of little difficulty,” Matilda replied in nearly as low a voice. “I have hardly managed a word to her since she has arrived, and none, I think, that she has heard. That is how it always was, is it not? But I did not see it before. How foolish I was.”

  “It is never foolish to love one’s family,” Elsabeth assured her. “But, in this instance, we must temper our love with a little sense. Now, first let me confess the details of Rosamund’s illness in London....”

  (57)

  For a full week, two wholly separate families seemed to exist in the Dover household. One, consisting of the Hartnells and Mrs Dover, was endlessly involved in the important social activity of making calls and being visited. Captain Hartnell, who might not have preferred to participate in that business, found himself politely shut out of the other party’s existence, with vague apologies indicating a concern for Rosamund’s condition and other female matters being the reason for such exclusion. The shape of this excuse necessitated Mr Dover’s expulsion from the bulk of activity as well, but he, privy to the actual nature of studies going on, and with his own free access to the books Elsabeth had brought, was content to play the role of an isola
ted father, and made no effort to bridge Hartnell’s own isolation within the household.

  Mr Webber, now acquainted with the Hartnells’ folly, regretted, but could not renege on, his offer of a dance. With all dignity, he retreated from Oakden to prepare for the party, whilst happily leaving Rosamund amongst her sisters to study books of magic: each day she returned home more robust, her pregnancy less of a strain, and Webber could ask for nothing more. He played glad host to their arriving guests; Miss Derrington had chosen to accept their invitation and arrived just in time for the dance, attended by both her fiancé and her mother, although not, to Elsabeth’s relief and chagrin, her cousin. Elsabeth had not written to her Aunt Penney, but, making a certain series of guesses of her own, had written the briefest of missives to Mr Archer himself; the whole of the letter contained only six words and the outer address: Thank you; in gratitude, Elsabeth Dover.

  Unable to decide if Archer’s refusal to attend or his innocence of its happening would be worse, Elsabeth put her letter out of mind and did not ask Mr Webber if Archer had been invited. Instead, she gladly embraced Miss Derrington at the earliest opportunity, and offered her felicitations on Annabel’s engagement.

  “Thank you,” said that pleasantly languid lady. “It should never have come about without your assistance. I must ask you to visit us in Oyo, Elsabeth; I know it is an impossibly far distance to travel, but I should like so much for you to become acquainted with my homeland, as I have come to know yours, and most particularly because you are so much the instrument of my returning to it.”

  “I believe the very idea would give my mother apoplexy,” Elsabeth confessed with a certain cheer. “I will make every attempt to visit you in a year or two, although I suppose, for a journey of such length, I might wish to stay beyond my welcome.”

  “It is not possible,” Miss Derrington assured her, and tucked her arm into Elsabeth’s to draw her closer. “I believe my mother has come with me for the express purpose of speaking to you, Elsa. If you wish, I will cause a distraction and allow you to flee.”

  Elsabeth laughed. “I am nearly tempted for the spectacle of your distraction, but I have faced your mother once before; I believe I can do so again without risking more than a scrap of pride. Is she very angry about your engagement?”

  “Entirely. I have been obliged to sit through more lectures in the past three months than in all the previous dozen years combined, but I am much practiced at it and can allow it to wash over me as waves might. Now, if you will introduce me to the newly-weds, I will pay my respects and then retire to the comfort of that very fine chair beside the fire.”

  “Gladly,” Elsabeth replied, but hesitated. “Will you do something for me, Miss Derrington? Ask Mr Swift that he forbear to mention his uncle, the battle surgeon. I made mention of him once and found Captain Hartnell to be unnaturally interested his identity. I should not like to get Doctor Swift into any kind of difficulty after the kindness he has done for us. There is no reason I can imagine that the topic might arise, but, to be certain, would you do this thing?”

  “It is no trouble at all,” Miss Derrington assured Elsabeth, and, in some little while, each of these things had been accomplished, with the fortunate intrusion of the first dance beginning before Mrs Hartnell had more than a moment or two to speak with Miss Derrington. Dina could not bear to miss even one dance, most particularly her first in public as a married woman, and Miss Derrington was left with the pleasant perception of a light-hearted and charming young woman in Mrs Hartnell, and was not subjected to any behaviours that might change that perception. Elsabeth watched with some trepidation as Mrs Dover was introduced to Lady Beatrice, but their conversation was so brief and agreeable that Elsabeth then wished she had been near enough to overhear what was said.

  Only after Miss Derrington deigned to join Mr Swift on a turn around the dance floor did Lady Beatrice approach Elsabeth, and said without preamble, “I expect you know why it is I wish to speak with you.”

  Elsabeth, glancing toward Miss Derrington, inclined her head. “I suppose that I do, but I cannot say I have any regrets in the matter, madam.”

  “No regrets?” Lady Beatrice’s voice remained at a perfectly civil level whilst simultaneously dropping into such frigidity that Elsabeth wondered there was not suddenly frost in the air. “No,” Lady Beatrice went on, “I suppose you would not have regrets over upsetting a long-agreed-upon marriage, when you are the greatest beneficiary of it. How dare you speak so blatantly!”

  Elsabeth disengaged her attention from the dancers to gaze at Lady Beatrice in astonishment. “I should think Mr Swift the greatest beneficiary, Lady Beatrice. I cannot imagine what I have gained.”

  “You cannot be serious. I have it on excellent authority that my nephew has made you an offer of marriage.”

  A breath expelled itself from between Elsabeth’s lips with such force as to be considered a cough. “How astounding. Upon whose authority do you have this news, madam?”

  “That is of no consequence. Do you deny it?”

  “I should think it of very great consequence. If I am to find myself the subject of such remarkable gossip, I think it very important that I should know who likes to spread it.”

  “It is only gossip, then,” Lady Beatrice said with some triumph. “I knew it could not be otherwise. He may have waited too long on marrying Annabel, but he could never align himself with a family so lowly as your own. Your sister is married to a vicar, for Heaven’s sake.”

  “And another sister to a gentleman,” Elsabeth said more heatedy, “and a third to an officer. I am the daughter of a gentleman, Lady Beatrice, and Mr Archer a gentleman himself. We differ in circumstance, perhaps, but not in station. And I must assure you that you are not mistaken; he has made me an offer, which I have declined.”

  Lady Beatrice’s rigidity suggested she could not decide between offence that Archer had made the offer or offence that Elsabeth had refused it; the intelligence of both at once struck all blood from her face, leaving her beauty quite sallow for an enjoyably long moment. As she had done at Charington, Elsabeth found herself unable to resist pressing the advantage, and spoke again before Lady Beatrice had recovered herself. “I confess that my acquaintance with Mr Archer until that time had shown his manners to be too poor for me to imagine marrying him; were I not now acquainted with Misses Derrington and Archer, I should think it a broad family fault, but perhaps it is one that only strikes certain unfortunate individuals. Lady Beatrice, I cannot imagine we have anything left to say to one another. Good evening.”

  “You will not dismiss me!” cried Lady Beatrice in full face of the fact that Elsabeth, in turning away, was doing just that. Still, her curiosity outweighed her offence; she wanted very much to know what else Lady Beatrice might want to say, and so, Elsabeth turned back with an expression she knew to be as cool and aloof as any peer might maintain.

  “I wish to have your word that you will not enter into any marriage contract with my nephew. I will not be satisfied until I have it.”

  A more unexpected demand could not have been made. Elsabeth, wondering what Lady Beatrice knew that she did not, gathered herself before replying. “I would think you have no need for worry on that front, madam. A gentleman, once thoroughly refused, does not often return to seek a second chance. Be that as it may, please be assured that I will accept or refuse a suitor as I choose, and not as demanded by family whose approval is not my concern.”

  “So, you will marry him!”

  “I will not promise you that I won’t,” Elsabeth corrected. “I am in no way beholden to you, Lady Beatrice; you cannot suppose that you have some sway over my decisions, and it already appears you have none over your nephew. I suppose that is your fear, and why you have come to make this preposterous demand of me; if you cannot control him, you hope to intimidate me into the behaviour you prefer. I am not easily frightened, madam, and I am, I think, quite done with this conversation. Good evening.” She swept away without looking back, alt
hough she did not deny that her path took her directly to the garden doors, where she hoped to pause and gather her breath; one did not have to be easily intimidated to require some measure of repose after facing down a member of the peerage! More, the topic upon which Lady Beatrice had been so focused lay beyond the edge of preposterous; there could be at this juncture no conceivable reason her Ladyship would think Mr Archer might intend to marry Elsabeth. Elsabeth could not fathom from whom Lady Beatrice might have heard such a tale, save from Archer him- self; certainly, neither she nor Rosamund nor their Aunt Penney would have carried the supposition to her, and there was, to Elsabeth’s knowledge, no one else besides Archer who even knew of his unfortunate proposal.

  The name came to her thoughts so suddenly that it escaped her lips at the same moment: “Persephone. Oh, but no, she could not have, and even if she had, she is quite assured that there is no chance of the matter being resolved in—”

  Her spoken thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, familiar voice crying out in gladness: “Elsabeth!” Matilda emerged from the garden teary-eyed and frightened, and ran to Elsabeth’s welcoming arms. “I came out for air,” she whispered. “He followed me, Elsa; I did not know what to do!”

  “He—?” Before Elsa could speak further, he revealed himself: Captain Hartnell, languidly extracting himself from the same section of garden that Tildy had just fled.

  “Sister! Thank heavens; I am glad you have found us. I happened on poor Matilda, lost in the gardens, and was attempting to persuade her back to the house when she—”

  The rest of his careless explanation was lost beneath Tildy’s gasp and the swift shake of her head. “That is not what hap- pened, Elsabeth; that is not it at all! He—he told me—he said that betwixt Dina and myself, I was his much favoured, and that he regretted already that he had married where he had, and he— he tried—he said—”

  “Nonsense.” Hartnell assumed his most winsome expression as he approached to within a step or two of the sisters. “Hysterical child, misunderstanding a brother’s love for passion. Elsabeth, you know me better than this; I should never—”