Bething's Folly

by Barbara Metzger

  “Lady Burke,” Carleton began in as reasonably steady a voice as he could muster after that interlude, “I hope we are not intruding, but we have called to enquire after your niece. We pray she has recovered from her headache of last night?”

  “Headache? The girl’s never had a headache! Well, maybe with the measles, but, let me tell you, it was something else on her mind, one of her racketty notions ... Oh, dear, perhaps I should not have said that.” Here Lady Burke frowned, but then her round face brightened as she found a solution. “Well, um, perhaps one of her notions did give her the headache last night. Yes, I am sure of it! Of course, she is very well this morning. That is, I think she is...” And here dismay mingled with uncertainty in her expression.

  Carleton was saved from having to reply to this bewildering speech by the return of the butler, who was bearing a tray of decanters and glasses. Behind him a footman carried tea things over to Lady Burke.

  After Carleton had been served and the butler turned to Ferddie, the Marquis could not help overhearing Lady Burke’s nervous whisperings to the footman, whose sleeve she pulled at to punctuate her urgency: “John, listen to me, you must find Miss Elizabeth! She’ll be at the dratted stables, so run! Tell her it is an emergency, tell her anything but get her here!”

  John looked hurriedly at the guests to see if his mistress was in any immediate danger, then quickly departed, to the butler’s surprise and displeasure as he turned around to find his assistant gone without having passed any refreshments. He did so himself with resigned dignity, then asked if there would be anything else.

  “No, that will be all, Taylor, thank you. That is, I think so. Yes, well Elizabeth will be coming shortly.” Lady Burke firmly addressed this last to Carleton, although she followed it with a barely audible muttering: “Gads, I hope so! Having to fetch her out of the stables now ... if she’ll come. Aubry will just have to see...” She was meanwhile buttering a muffin fastidiously, which she then fed piece by piece to the fat little dog next to her.

  Carleton wondered what had her so fidgety, whether it was his presence, fear of the threatening Uncle Aubry, or, worst of all, her niece’s unpredictable temperament. It must be a combination of all three, he decided, if not her own eccentric nature. Eccentric, hell, he amended. Miss Bethingame’s aunt was decidedly screw-loose! What an environment for a young girl! To make some effort at conversation, he asked Lady Burke how she had done at the card tables the night before, which turned out to be a brilliant stroke on his part. The lady brightened immediately and went into a lengthy, detailed description of her partners, her hands, the particulars of the betting. Carleton only had to nod or murmur agreement, so he was free to reflect on other things, like what in the world he was doing here, and how treacherous friends could be at times. Ferddie Milbrooke had not said ten words since their arrival, only sitting there with a saintly smile on his face, enjoying the whole preposterous scene immeasurably. Most likely memorizing it, Carleton fumed, to taunt him with it later. The Marquis glared over at his friend, who merely raised his glass in a mock salute.

  Lady Burke was running down, beginning to lament her early departure from the cards, when a door to the rear of the house was slammed. “Oh, dear Lord” was the last thing she said before boots were heard running down the hall, and a fierce scrabbling, and hopefully reassuring calls of “Aunt Claudia, I’m coming!”

  They could hear the butler coming down the front hall: “Miss Elizabeth, wait! Don’t!” met by shouts from the back hall: “Taylor, Aunt Claudia!”

  Milbrooke and Carleton were on their feet by now, facing the door and expecting who knows what when it burst open and Miss Bethingame rushed in, followed by the butler, the footman, a small man in rough clothes and a large, muddy, spanielly-looking dog. The pug on the couch took one look at this last intruder and bounded off on a ferocious-sounding but completely ludicrous attack. The spaniel began darting around the room, barking joyfully at this new game. Lady Burke took one look at her niece—high boots, woolen shirt knotted at the waist and britches—and fainted dead away on the sofa.

  Miss Bethingame glanced at Ferddie, whose mouth was hanging open in stupefaction, then turned to Carleton, knowing immediately what had happened. She directed one scathing word at him—“You!”—before hurrying to her aunt’s side.

  The tea table went over with a crash and yelping. The pug withdrew from battle in a fit of wheezing; the spaniel kept up its excited barking; Lady Burke moaned.

  Miss Bethingame reached for a pillow to put under her aunt’s head, then turned to face Carleton, her eyes sparking fire, her fists clenched. “If I were a man I would call you out, you ... you...”

  “Miss Bitsy!” The third man cut her off before she could find a terrible enough word, which only redirected her anger at himself.

  “If you ever call me that again, Robbie Jackson, I’ll have you turned out of here, so help me I—”

  “Down, sir, down!” Ferddie was shouting at the spaniel leaving muddy footprints on his pants, and “Grab his collar, you fool,” at the footman gingerly trying to corner the delighted animal. The pug was in such a state its eyes looked about to pop out of its head, and the butler was no better off. Carleton could feel the laughter bubbling up and fought to keep the urge contained. With only the slightest bit of humour in his voice he took command of the situation, issuing orders like a general deploying his forces: “Taylor is it? Please fetch Lady Burke’s woman and someone to pick up the mess here. Milbrooke, Mr. Jackson here could relieve you of that beast if you would follow him to the stables. And you,” he said to the footman, bending down to lift up the asthmatic old pug and holding it out at arm’s length, “kindly remove this creature. I believe cold milk is what my aunt gave hers in this condition... They will know in the kitchen.”

  When they were all gone, Carleton turned to Miss Bethingame, now fanning her aunt with a newspaper. He took another, better look at her appearance—the loose brown braid hanging down her back, the dirt smudges on her face, and most of all the britches—and one corner of his mouth twitched up. No wonder her aunt was so addlepated, raising such a madcap; but, yes, she was as adorable as he remembered, even mad and messy. He could not help it but a low chuckle broke the silence after the pandemonium, and, finally, uncontrollable laughter. Miss Bethingame was ready to make a furious rejoinder to this last insult when something in his laughter stopped her. He was not exactly laughing at her, her instincts told her—he was much too well-bred for that—only at the hopelessly absurd situation. Her own good-humoured sense of the ridiculous took over and she joined him in genuine amusement until her aunt groaned again on the sofa.

  “It is fine to laugh, my Lord, but look at all the trouble I am in now,” she said seriously. “Would you please leave before my aunt regains her senses?”

  “My leaving would only make things worse, I should think. If you will change to, ah, more suitable attire we may all reassemble and pass the incident off as nothing exceptional. As you said last night, if we do not discuss it, it never happened. At least we will delay your aunt’s scolding.”

  Miss Bethingame had to acknowledge the wisdom of his advice. There was no other choice besides, for he was making no effort to depart and here was the maid with the smelling salts and vinaigrette. It would be too cruel to make Aunt Claudia face Carleton alone again, so she told the maid to stay until her return and hurried past the Marquis, who nodded reassuringly and approvingly.

  There followed a frenzy of activity in her bedroom upstairs as Miss Bethingame’s own maid rushed to help her wash and change into a simple morning gown. There was also a turmoil in the young lady’s mind. Why couldn’t the Marquis of Carlyle simply be the overbearing, conceited Tulip she had imagined? Why did he have to have such a beguiling smile, such easy confidence? No, she told herself firmly, she was not going to fall for his well-practiced charm like every other girl in the neighbourhood. Let him play his games or whatever he was doing here, she had already told him that she had no wish to marr
y. In any event, he would soon tire of country ways and return to London, she was convinced, to seek his wife among the sophisticates there, leaving her to face her furious uncle. Well, at least he would not leave her with an aching heart!

  Ferddie had returned to the drawing room to find Carleton pouring a glass of Madeira for Lady Burke, blithely recounting some tale of his aunt’s pug. Milbrooke helped himself to another brandy and tried to catch his friend’s eye, but the Marquis merely went on with his story. Ferddie shrugged and sat down—it was still Carleton’s play—only to bounce up again when Miss Bethingame entered the room. This time she was charming in a plain muslin gown of light brown with orange ribbons, her hair simply caught back in a matching bow. Carleton took her hand and enquired about her headache, so Ferddie followed his lead with hopes that her good looks reflected her good health. Miss Bethingame coloured prettily, thanked her guests for their kindness and rang for tea before sitting down to discuss the gentlemen’s ride over.

  Lady Burke looked from Ferddie, nodding pleasantly, to Carleton, who was solemnly criticising the state of the roadways, to her perfectly lady-like niece, and told herself they were all candidates for Bedlam. She took another sip of her Madeira.

  When the possibilities for conversation about the roads and the pleasant weather had been exhausted, Carleton addressed Lady Burke again, with the same degree of polite formality, to express an invitation to her and her niece, on behalf of his aunt Sephrina, Margaret’s mother. There was to be another dance in honour of Margaret’s engagement a sennight hence, a small, neighbourly affair, and Carle Manor would be honoured to host the Bethingame ladies. “Oh, yes,” he concluded, “there will of course be card rooms for the nondancers in the party.”

  Elizabeth was undoubtedly going to refuse, Lady Burke knew, so she hastily accepted for them both. “How very kind of you. Elizabeth, dear, now you can wear the lovely lilac gown Ellie sent from London, can’t you? Oh, my, how kind of your aunt, Lord Carleton.” There was nothing for Elizabeth to do but acquiesce. She could not very well argue with her aunt in front of the gentlemen—her own ploy—nor could she express her opinion that Lord Carleton’s aunt was so far unaware of the gracious invitation. She could only credit the Marquis’s tactics, for whatever purpose he had in mind, knowing she had been skilfully manoeuvred Into another function she would have declined and more of the public scrutiny she deplored. She could not help but distrust the smile Carleton was giving her, it was too calculating, too sure of success. Well, she might have to attend Margaret’s party, but she did not have to dance with Margaret’s cousin! Pointedly ignoring the Marquis, she turned to Ferddie Milbrooke, asking if he was also going to attend, which was a mistake on her part. Ferddie asked her for the first dance, as she knew he would, but Carleton had taken the opportunity for further conversation with Lady Burke. When Elizabeth could politely finish the talk with Milbrooke, it was to see Carleton as pleased as a cat full of cream and her aunt beaming.

  “Elizabeth, you will never guess what a kind offer Lord Carleton has made! He has volunteered to teach you the waltz, to save us the bother and expense of hiring an instructor. Isn’t that delightful? I think so, Elizabeth, for I am assured all the young ladies waltz now, although in my day ... Well, I could not be more pleased, for to tell the truth I was meaning to talk to you about that very thing, Elizabeth. And, dear, I have invited Lord Carleton—and you, too, Lord Milbank—to tea tomorrow, for a lesson. Isn’t that fine, dear?”

  “That is Lord Milbrooke, Aunt Claudia, and, no, we have other plans for tomorrow afternoon, so we must regretfully decline my Lord’s kind offer.” Miss Bethingame was gritting her teeth over the polite phrases and glaring at her aunt. This was too much! Lady Burke, however, was never one for subtleties, especially when she saw her duties clearly and an object of desire in sight.

  “Oh, do we have plans for tomorrow, dear? Well, then the following day, Lord Carleton, Lord Milbrooke? And perhaps we might have time for a round or two of whist.” Carleton agreed readily, and Milbrooke went along, so once again Miss Bethingame was trapped, committed to dancing lessons with a notorious flirt who only wished to embarrass her. “Thank you, I am delighted, to be sure.” Lady Burke was so pleased with the arrangements she believed she had made, and so thrilled at the interest Carleton was taking in her niece, that she thought to put the icing on the cake, so to speak: “Elizabeth, dear, why don’t you show the gentlemen around the property? I am sure they would enjoy seeing the stables. All gentlemen do.”

  Elizabeth felt that she would gladly throttle her aunt, but to her surprise the Marquis declined, claiming they were overdue at Carlyle, and rose to leave. Ferddie naturally had to rise with him, though he was bewildered by his friend’s decision to leave without seeing even one of the supposed champion stock. Why, he’d known Carleton to drive hours out of his way just to inspect a likely comer. Lady Burke was astonished that her trump card had failed. When her brother was alive, the place had simply thronged with gentlemen eager for such an invitation; since they were out of mourning, of course, the guests were much fewer, only a few close friends and childhood beaux of Elizabeth’s, but none of them ever left without a survey of the new acquisitions. Even Miss Bethingame was thoroughly confused, especially after Carleton’s casual, “Maybe next time.” Only Carleton was satisfied as they made their farewells, though damn, he told himself, he would love a tour of the place!

  EIGHT

  Two days later, as arranged, Carleton and Milbrooke rode over to Bething Manor for dancing lessons, tea and whist. Ferddie had been granted a higher degree of confidence and a better understanding of the role he was to play. In return, he had passed on, in exuberant adjectives, his impressions of the stables from his visit in the company of the spaniel and Jackson, the trainer and manager.

  Equipped with sheet music, a meat pastry wrapped in paper to appease the pug and his friend’s information, Lord Alexander Carleton was looking forward to the afternoon’s curious diversions. Not so Miss Bethingame, who was presently in her bedroom, ransacking her wardrobe. She did not wish to give the Marquis a wrong impression by dressing to the hilt for him, as her aunt wished; neither did she want to appear ungainly before two London gentlemen come to teach the country bumpkin how to waltz. Miss Bethingame was not used to fussing with her appearance, nor worrying over others’ opinions of her behaviour, and she was not enjoying this new experience. She almost convinced herself that she did not care what Carleton thought of her, yet the brown muslin was too plain, the pink silk too low-cut ... At last she decided on a burnt-peach gown edged at neckline and hem with ecru lace. It was not her most elegant or stylish day-dress, yet she thought it one of Ellie’s most becoming, and she felt sorely in need of the confidence the gown could give her.

  Too much time had been spent in the selection to leave much opportunity for leisurely dressing. Her brown-gold hair was quickly and skilfully coerced by Bessie, her maid, into a fashion known as Grecian curls, with a wisp or two of hair escaping to frame her face. Matching ribbon was provided, and her mother’s pearls, her only jewelry. Perhaps it was the colour of the dress, or the hurry, or the nervous anticipation, but Miss Bethingame’s colouring was at its finest, not the commonplace pink and white, but a lovely rosy glow. Again, perhaps it was Bessie’s proud compliments or her own resolution to be on her guard, but the gold in Elizabeth’s wide brown eyes sparkled with animation seldom seen in blue or green ones. Bessie smiled fondly. She’d told old Lord Bethingame what a beauty his daughter would be; it was a shame he could not be here to share it. Bessie also regretted for the thousandth time that her darling would not get to shine at a London Season ... a motherless girl with a skinflint uncle and a balmy aunt. The maid shook her head. At least the fine gentlemen downstairs might appreciate her treasure. Better a Town buck than an old Lancashire widower!

  The gentlemen were indeed appreciative, Ferddie with his charming compliments, Carleton with his beguiling smile. Then it was down to serious business, the Marquis taking c
harge. No more teasing or conniving; he was a strict taskmaster. Lady Burke fumbled at the pianoforte while Carleton turned the pages and marked the tempo. Milbrooke danced first with an ungraceful partner, twirling a gilt chair around the drawing room to give Elizabeth the idea. If anyone thought to question why Ferddie should do the dancing, Carleton the instructing, no one mentioned it. Miss Bethingame was half-relieved, half oddly disappointed, but the lesson proceeded smoothly. Her natural grace and sense of rhythm, coupled with the coordination developed through years of riding, stood her in good stead. She was never made to feel a clumsy fool, even when she miscounted her steps or Carleton criticised her inattention to the tempo. He was impersonal; Ferddie was patient. Together they commended her quick grasp of the dance, and in no time at all she was actually enjoying herself. Too soon Carleton called a halt, congratulating Lady Burke on her niece’s aptitude: