As the day of her departure grew nearer. Lord Rowan spent more and more time with Lavinia, and any fears she may have had that she was being sent away because she was an encumbrance upon him were dispelled. So obvious was his dismay at the thought of being parted from her so soon after having found her, that Lavinia, for a time, forgot her own sadness in trying to erase, or at least ease, his.
The morning of their embarkation at Dover found them at the harbour early, having stayed overnight in an hotel nearby. The quay was a seething mass of people scurrying hither and thither intent upon their own affairs. Lavinia was bewildered and a little frightened by it all. Although she was a city girl, she had never seen such a throng. She held on tightly to her grandfather’s arm, afraid that she would lose him in the crowd.
‘There they are,’ a voice cried close at hand and Lavinia turned to see Giles pushing his way through the people to reach them, and following in his wake was Jonathan.
‘Couldn’t let you go without saying a proper “ goodbye”, Vinny. Good morning, Lord Rowan.’ Giles was breathless.
‘Good morning, my boy, Jonathan,’ as the latter reached them.
Lavinia knew herself to be pink with the pleasure not only of actually seeing Jonathan but also with the thought that he had taken the trouble to come all this way to see her. Giles’ next words were to dispel some of the magic of her thoughts.
‘Jonathan had to come down here on business, so I decided to come with him and see you off.’
So Giles had come especially, Lavinia thought, but not Jonathan. However, she consoled herself, he had come, and she had had her wish to see him just once more granted. Giles chattered on in his usual boyishly impetuous manner, whilst Jonathan merely smiled down at her. At last Jonathan drew her aside from the other two for a brief moment and spoke softly to her alone.
‘Don’t be sad at going, Vinny. When you return you’ll be an accomplished young lady with no reason to be shy or afraid of anyone.’
‘You r-really think so?’ Her eyes gazed into his appealingly, but her tone was disbelieving.
‘You haven’t any need now, although I know you won’t believe me—but perhaps when you come back you will do so. Vinny, when you come back …’ his voice took on a note of urgency, but at that moment Giles called.
‘It’s time Vinny and Lord Rowan were going aboard, Jonathan.’
‘All right,’ he replied. ‘ Vinny—you will write to me—to us—and let us know how you are and …’
‘Yes—yes, I’ll write and,’ she paused uncertain whether she dare say what was in her mind.
‘Yes?’ he prompted.
‘And I sh-should like to know h-how you—all—are, and about the clippers and your steamship.’
She saw the gleam of pleasure in his eyes at the mention of the steamship. Then he laughed. ‘If I wrote to you on that subject, Vinny, I should bore you to tears.’
‘Oh no—no—you c-could never do that,’ she cried and then blushed and hung her head at the thought of her boldness.
‘Really, Vinny,’ Jonathan said so softly that she could scarcely hear him. ‘I’m glad.’
‘Hey, you two,’ Giles broke in again. ‘Come on, or you’ll miss it.’
He appeared beside them and took Lavinia’s hand and placed it through his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you, ma’am.’
‘Allow me to escort you, ma’am,’ said Jonathan, his face breaking into one of his rare wide grins so that he looked almost as boyishly young as Giles. Only the scar was a sharp reminder that his youth had been somewhat carelessly misspent.
Lavinia took the arm Jonathan offered her and tried to laugh gaily, but the effort almost choked her with the thought that she would see neither of them for almost a year and so much could happen in that time.
As the boat drew away, Lord Rowan and Lavinia stood by the deck rail and waved to the two brothers until they were mere specks in the distance.
‘They’re fine young men, Lavinia, I should be more than happy if you eventually pick a husband who is their equal.’
Lavinia looked up to meet his eyes and knew by her expression that she betrayed herself if her grandfather could see it. She looked away quickly.
‘Ah,’ said Lord Rowan quietly. ‘I seem to have struck upon a note which responds, have I, Lavinia?’
‘Please, Grandfather, do not ask me.’
Tears were too close for her to discuss her feelings rationally at this moment and besides, she wanted no one else to learn of her hopeless love for Jonathan. It was bad enough that Giles should have learnt of it.
‘Very well, my dear,’ Lord Rowan put his arm about her shoulders and she leant against him. Together they watched the disappearing coast of England.
The school itself offered no fearful prospect of misery for the next year. It was a charming old house—rambling was the only word to describe it, Lavinia thought. A maze of corridors, classrooms, bedrooms and dormitories, and so on. The headmistress was a small woman, but exquisitely proportioned. Her serene face, still beautiful, was at one and the same time kindly and homely, but worldly-wise and intelligent. Madame Givelle was eminently suited to her profession.
‘You are very welcome, Mamedolselle Kelvin,’ she said, her English most beautifully pronounced with only the merest hint of an accent. ‘Lord Rowan, I am happy to make your acquaintance. I am sure your grand-daughter will be happy here and you have my personal assurance that she will be well cared-for.’
‘I am sure of that, Madame, for I selected your establishment only after very careful consideration and on the finest recommendation.’
Madame Givelle smiled and turned to Lavinia. ‘ Well, my dear, I will leave you to say “good-bye” to your grandfather. When you are ready, knock on my sitting-room door and we will have a little talk.’ She waved her elegant hand to indicate the door of her room at one side of the vast hall in which they were now standing and then she left them.
‘Now, my child, no painful “good-byes”,’ her grandfather said briskly. ‘The time will soon pass and you will be back home with me.’
He kissed her on both cheeks.
‘Au revoir,’ he said softly, turned and walked away quickly before Lavinia had had time to utter a single word.
When the front door had closed behind his tall figure, she stood for a moment to swallow the lump in her throat and to wipe the tears from her eyes. Then, taking a deep breath to compose herself, she went and knocked upon Madame’s door.
Life at Madame Givelle’s finishing school was, at first, very strange for Lavinia. She had, whilst in her parents’ household, never enjoyed much social life. She had never been allowed to make friends with girls of her own age, and so to be plunged into the midst of about thirty of forty young ladles, all of whom possessed an abundance of self-confidence which Lavinia did not, was in itself a challenge. But the whole atmosphere of the school was relaxed and friendly. To her surprise there were few strict rules and the members of staff were far from the stern taskmistresses she had anticipated they might be. As if following Madame’s lead, they were kindly and sympathetic towards her and gave no indication that she was, at first, different from the rest of the pupils in their charge. It was not a school for academic learning only—though they had such lessons—but in the main the establishment was designed to equip girls of social standing with the graces and manners befitting their station, to give them self-confidence, charm and, in short, to make them worthy of a husband of high rank, for the thought uppermost in every girl’s mind was of the husband she would one day hope to secure.
So Lavinia soon found herself reasonably happy in her new surroundings, and although she missed Jonathan, her grandfather and the Eldons intolerably, she comforted herself with the thought that when she returned she would be more the kind of woman whom Jonathan could admire. So she applied herself diligently to her lessons. Her favourite lesson was dancing—she loved the graceful steps to the music, learning the art of curtsying in the long, full skirts. Not so popular with an
y of the girls was the deportment class where they had to walk about with a heavy book upon their heads to acquire an elegant walk, and for the girl with a stoop there was the ordeal of spending some time each day strapped to a blackboard so that she might grow tall and straight. Fortunately, Lavinia had a natural grace and straightness of back which allowed her exemption from this. They learnt embroidery, making numerous fine samplers of different stitches and only when they could perform each stitch to perfection were they allowed to progress to the making of something more useful. The girls, too, were encouraged to paint, mostly in watercolours, and in this class Lavinia found she excelled. Soon her portraits of her fellow pupils were in great demand and before her year was out, she was to have painted almost every one of the inmates of the school—including Madame Givelle herself who, to Lavinia’s great delight, insisted that her portrait should be framed and hung in her sitting-room. She was allowed to experiment with oils and found this medium even more to her liking. Lavinia found she enjoyed working with colours even more than with pencil and she also painted the faces of her grandfather and the Eldon family from memory—this time being careful however, to paint only one of Jonathan. But she could not help taking greater care over the portrait of Jonathan. There was no doubt that of all her work this stood out as her masterpiece. It was as if all her love for him transmitted itself through her brush on to the canvas. The portraits of her grandfather and of the Eldons she kept to take back with her—perhaps this time she would show them to her grandfather for Madame Givelle had complemented her on her talent and had told her that she must continue to work hard at her painting. The pencil drawings she had done previously—the ones Giles had come upon unexpectedly—had been left at home, but now she had a new set of drawings and paintings which were undoubtedly an improvement on her previous efforts now she had had encouragement and advice from the art mistress.
Lavinia also found, much to her surprise, that she enjoyed the learning of French. At first she had been distressed to find that she was the only pupil there who had not previously learnt anything of the language. But her quick mind soon rescued her from the bottom of the class, finding that she had perhaps a natural feeling for the language because it was her grandmother’s tongue.
Letters arrived frequently from her grandfather, to which she replied with the same regularity. She also received letters from Lady Melmoth and Giles, but from Jonathan there was no word. She had been half-afraid that his promise to write had been just an idle one, as people do when they part. So that when a letter with strange handwriting arrived one day, she had ceased to hope that it might be from him, and when, on opening it, she saw the name ‘Jonathan’ at the foot of the page, she could scarcely believe it possible.
Without reading it she slipped it into the pocket of her morning dress for she had no wish to read it amongst the other girls who at any moment might peep over her shoulder. She would wait until she could slip away to the dormitory and read it in private. Some time later in the morning, after two hours of lessons on which she had found concentration difficult, her thoughts ever wandering to the letter in her pocket, she found herself running with undignified haste up the stairs to her room. With trembling fingers she sat down on the bed to read the letter, holding the page tenderly as if it were her most treasured possession.
‘My dear Lavinia,
‘I trust this letter will find you as it leaves me—in good health. We have heard with pleasure from Lord Rowan of the comfort and suitability of your residence. I, for my part, hope you are happy in your present surroundings.’
Lavinia could well imagine him pausing at this point to consider a topic on which he could write to make the letter of reasonable length, and falling back on the one subject which occupied the majority of his thoughts.
‘The steamship progresses favourably and we hope she will make her maiden voyage within a year or so. Rivalry grows between our Line and T & M. As you know the first clipper into the East India Docks in London with a new cargo of tea commands the higher prices and competition between the captains of the clippers of rival companies springs up automatically. Ships are now racing across the seas to be the first in port and folk here in London are even placing wagers as to which ship will be first home. Of course, other companies are involved too, but our greatest rivals are those afore-mentioned.
‘Giles became involved (almost) in a brawl last week because someone dared to lay his wager against our line in favour of T & M.’
The letter ended, rather abruptly, as if he had suddenly thought that Lavinia may not be interested in the only topic upon which Jonathan found he could write at length. It was strange that the quiet, reserved Jonathan could release such thoughts in a letter. Yet Lavinia, too, found herself in a similar position. It seemed that for both of them it was easier for them to put their thoughts down on paper, in the rather more impersonal form of a letter, than if they were conversing face to face. In her reply, Lavinia was somewhat surprised to find herself saying things to him she would never have dared to say directly to him.
‘I am quite well settled here,’ she wrote, ‘and happy, but I do miss Grandfather and all of you so much.
‘I am so glad the steamship progresses—will it be ready by the time the new canal opens? I would think that the first ships to make use of the much shorter route would reap the most benefit—and I remember you saying that clippers would be unable to use the canal.
‘I can sympathise with Giles’ feeling at hearing disparagement of our Line—but please tell him to take care, it will hardly help the Company if he gets himself harmed, even in its defence!’
She did not send her reply immediately for she did not wish to appear over-eager or to put Jonathan under an obligation to reply quickly to her letter. Of course, the words she would dearly loved to have penned remained unwritten and locked within her heart.
Lavinia was enraptured, however, to find that when she did at last send her letter, Jonathan replied almost by return.
‘My dear Lavinia,
‘Your letter delighted me and—forgive me—surprised me. The surprise was caused by your perceptive remark about the first ships through the canal. How right you are and (though you must keep this to yourself) our Company have this very fact in mind in building the steamship. We hope that the ship will be ready some months before the canal opens and can prove its seaworthiness and so on in good time so as to be running smoothly before the canal opens.’
Lavinia, once more anxious not to appear over-eager, purposely delayed her reply to Jonathan again, though during the following days the words of her proposed letter kept running through her mind. When she did reply, she made her letter lengthy telling him of her life at the school, of the kindness of her teachers and of the friendliness of the girls. One girl in particular, another English girl, Phillippa Selwyn, had become Lavinia’s particular companion. They shared a room together and the girl, vivacious and charming, had taken the shy Lavinia under her protective wing. Lavinia admired her greatly. She wrote to Jonathan of her.
‘Lady Phillippa Selwyn is so gay and attractive and so self-confident—how I admire her! She is kind too. She comes from London, though Pm not sure what part, and her family have a country house in Devon, I believe.’
It was a long time before Jonathan wrote again—all of six weeks and Lavinia, though she had at first been overwhelmed by the speed with which he had answered her first letter, now found herself deeply disappointed that he should take such a long time to write again. She wondered whether she could have offended him in some way and though she recalled to mind almost every word of her letter to him, she could think of nothing to which Jonathan could or would have taken exception.
A letter arrived from Giles and his words regarding Jonathan perplexed Lavinia more than ever.
‘Old Jonathan has been like a grumpy bear these last weeks—goodness knows what’s the matter with him.’
The remainder of Giles’ letter was general chatter telling her of various balls and
social functions he had attended. He had been to the music-hall, he told her, and had enjoyed it immensely.
‘I can’t drag old Jonathan along though—he seems to have no taste for the high life now. He just wants to bury himself in work and his steamship.’
At last, a letter arrived from Jonathan and once more Lavinia took it to the privacy of her bedroom before opening it. She was half-afraid to read it, fearful that he was in some way angry with her from what Giles had told her. But his letter gave no indication that he was in any way put out and he only apologised briefly for not having written before, but explained that pressure of business had kept him occupied.
Perhaps, she thought, the final paragraph held the only clue—if there was one—as to the reason for his ill-temper of which Giles had spoken.
‘I am happy,’ Jonathan wrote, ‘to hear you are making friends, but take care to whom you give your friendship, my dear. Not everyone is what they seem.’
Here he started to write more, but the word was heavily scored through and Lavinia was left wondering what he had been about to write. She sat on the edge of her bed in the silence of the room, the only sounds being the muted voices of the other girls from downstairs. Lavinia wrinkled her brow. Jonathan seemed to be warning her against false friendliness shown to her by the inmates of the school. But, as she recalled, the only person to whom she had alluded in her letter to him had been Phillippa Selwyn.
Selwyn! Where had she heard the name before? Now she came to think about it, when she had first learnt it was Phillippa’s family name, it had struck a chord of recognition somewhere, but until this moment she had thought no more of it.
Lavinia shook her head slowly. She knew now that she had definitely heard mention of the name before, but she could not recall when or from whom.
Portrait of Jonathan Page 7
