Things once again looked decidedly grim. For if the man on the case had been mistaken, then they were back to the beginning, and who was to know what had really happened?
Apart from the anxiety suffered by everyone over Anne, the bad news had another impact. For two days, all the young ladies’ activities for the Season were cancelled. But again it was Caroline who provided the most sensible view of the situation.
“It is too late now for Georgiana and Clarissa to withdraw from the London scene. To do so would give rise to unnecessary speculation. For what reason could we possibly give for it? There could be no convincing way to explain it at this point, and society will be only too glad to supply reasons of its own.”
No one could deny the wisdom of this, not even Darcy, whose mouth tightened, but who could find no argument to oppose it.
And so it was, that despite Anne’s unknown fate, the round of entertainments continued, including the promised outing to the old Abbey.
***
Georgiana had high expectations of the expedition. She resolved to find an opportunity to spend time alone with Channing, even if both Clarissa and Mr Gatley were in the party. She lay awake in bed after she had put out her candle, and thought of ways she could draw him away from the others. If she did not succeed, then she would only have herself to blame.
But already things were not going well. First, the trip was postponed because a strong storm had been unleashed during the night and going on a picnic was out of the question. Then, on the night before they were supposed to go, Elizabeth developed a cold. Darcy hesitated to send Georgiana without Elizabeth as chaperone. But after many assurances that she would be adequately watched over, he relented, on condition that she would travel with the Gatleys. Accordingly, a note was sent to them, and Gatley’s carriage made its due appearance the next morning.
Georgiana, who was apprehensive about spending more than three hours in a carriage with Gatley, soon put all her misgivings aside. Mrs Gatley immediately engaged her in conversation, enquiring about her impressions of London society so far and recounting some anecdotes from her own first Season, many of which involved Georgiana’s mother as well.
“Ah, what a long time ago all that was,” said Mrs Gatley nostalgically. “And now to think it is your turn to go through it all.”
“Would you do anything differently if you could live through it again?” said Georgiana.
Mrs Gatley thought about this for a little while. “No, for how could I? With two children I am very proud of—my daughter married well with a family of her own—and a husband I never regretted marrying for an instant, for he was the kindest man one could ever find—no, I have nothing to regret.” She considered this for a few minutes. “My only suggestion to you is: do not take everything too seriously. Life has a way of becoming serious afterwards. You might as well enjoy yourself while you may.”
“I am not sure that is the best advice for a debutante, Mother,” said Gatley. “You know only too well that any sign of flightiness in a young lady would be condemned by Society.”
“Not at all,” said Mrs Gatley, “you have the wrong bull by the horns, Henry. There is nothing more charming than a young lady who is enjoying life.”
Gatley countered her, and the discussion went on for some time. Georgiana watched them and smiled. She hesitated to give an opinion, thinking that surely she could have little to say, when she herself was a debutante. For what could she know what Society’s perceptions were?
“I hope we are not boring you, dear,” said Mrs Gatley. “You have not voiced your opinion yet. Do you not think Henry takes himself far too seriously?”
Now on that she had a definite opinion. “From what I have observed of him, it is indeed the case,” she said. “But I can agree with neither of you about what a young debutante should do.” She hoped she would give offence to neither. “I think one should not prescribe anything for a young debutante, for each young lady is different, and should choose her own path. What good is it to ask a young woman who is grave and serious to be full of laughter? Or to ask the opposite of one who does nothing but laugh. And coming out is a very serious matter. It should not be undertaken lightly. Perhaps, in looking back, you may see things differently, but I cannot imagine that there can be a more serious moment in a young woman’s life than the time she must select the gentleman she will live with for the rest of her life.”
She spoke with some passion, and was both surprised and pleased with herself by the end of it.
“Brava, Miss Darcy!” said Mrs Gatley. “You have put us to shame. Has she not, Henry?”
Gatley was smiling. “One can hardly disagree with such earnest conviction,” he said. “I concede readily that Miss Darcy has the right of it.” His voice held enough warmth in it to signify his approval, and Georgiana found herself smiling back at him.
The conversation soon turned to their destination and what to expect.
“I have heard it said that the area near Farnham is among the prettiest in England,” said Mrs Gatley, as they admired the view from Hogs-Back.
“A fitting setting for the hero of Waverley,” said Gatley. “I have taken the liberty of bringing the book with me. I thought perhaps we could take turns reading from it. Then perhaps we will be more educated when we visit the ruins.”
Georgiana, who had brought a copy herself, produced her own, and Mr Gatley laughed.
“Had I known that you owned a copy, I would not have exerted such pains to find a copy myself,” said Mr Gatley.
“I never thought to mention it,” said Georgiana.
“Of course not,” said Mrs Gatley, leaning over and patting her hand. “Why would you? Well then, who is going to read first?”
“Mr Gatley,” said Georgiana.
“Miss Darcy,” said Gatley, at the same moment.
Mrs Gatley looked from one to the other. “Well, I see neither of you have chosen me.”
Georgiana, embarrassed, began to stammer an apology, but Mrs Gatley dismissed it with a wave of her hand and a smile. “Oh, I am not the least offended. I would much rather listen to the two of you read. Why don’t you start, Gatley, and Miss Darcy can continue when your reading becomes too monotonous. For have you noticed that even the best reader begins to lose expression after reading several pages?”
Georgiana had noticed the same, and she agreed heartily with Mrs Gatley. “If we are to switch very often, then you must also participate, and that way we can have more variety and more time to rest our voices.”
Mrs Gatley accepted and urged her son to start.
Mr Gatley was a good reader. He had a rich, deep voice and a fine sense of the dramatic. At first she did not look at him, but simply enjoyed the strong tenor of his reading. Then, as he continued, she turned in his direction and began to watch the play of emotions across his face as he read. His face was expressive, his eyes dark and lustrous. Channing had said he could be agreeable, once he set his mind to it. It was clear that he had set his mind to it on this occasion at least, for he showed none of the haughty attitude he had displayed on other occasions. He read with animation, and afterwards, when they put down the novel and engaged in conversation, she thought that he really could be quite appealing, once he had decided to.
Their reading was interrupted when Channing’s carriage—not the phaeton, fortunately—edged past them, forcing their coachman to swerve to avoid having its wheels caught. Channing was in the box, holding the reins, squeezed with his coachman on one side and Clarissa on the other. Clarissa was clutching her hat, which was in danger of being blown away, and her face held an expression both alarmed and thrilled. Channing shouted for them—slow coaches all—to move out of his way.
Henceforth, Georgiana found no pleasure in the reading, and all her thoughts were occupied with the picture of Channing with Clarissa by his side.
***
The moment Georgiana
reached her destination, she was ready to spring out of the carriage to find him. She wanted to tumble out and run over to where Channing’s carriage stood. She restrained herself, however, bearing in mind Clarissa’s advice about the Grand Entrance.
As it is, her Grand Entrance—or exit from the carriage, in this case—was completely wasted. Clarissa, who had travelled the whole way with the Channings, jumped down from the carriage with Channing’s assistance. They waved to Georgiana and the Gatleys in a friendly manner but were soon moving across the meadow in the direction of the ruins, with Clarissa tugging impatiently at his arm. Miss Moffet came forth and claimed Gatley’s arm in the familiar mode of old childhood friends.
Georgiana was thus left to follow with Mr Moffet, who immediately came forward to take her arm, and they sallied forth to meet the hired guide who was awaiting them. The three matrons—Mrs Gatley, Mrs Channing, and Mrs Moffet made up a solid wall behind them.
The ruins were located on a picturesque turn of the river Wey. A lush old yew tree watched over the ruins. Butterflies flittered around purple foxgloves and white ragged robins, and bumblebees hummed in contentment. The guide explained about the Cistercian monks who had lived there and the refractory that had housed them, and about the slow decline in their numbers over time. Everyone exclaimed over the vaulted crypt, with its arches and elegant columns, even Georgiana, for whom ruins generally held little appeal. The rest of the ruins, however, looked much like any others, and it required too much of an effort at reconstruction to bring them to life.
Clarissa was in raptures about everything, exclaiming over every stone, sighing over the crumbling walls, and peering with fascination through the hollowed windows.
“To think that this lonely spot was once visited by kings! To think of the pomp and ceremony, where now ivy clambers up the walls and only devastation remains. Imagine the glorious church, with its rich ornaments and its imposing presence. Yet this is all that is left.”
“Do you really think it was richly ornamented?” said Georgiana doubtfully, looking at the drab dark stone. “The walls seem quite plain.”
“I am inclined to agree with Miss Darcy,” said Gatley, passing his palm across the rough surface. “The plainness of the flint work suggests this was a humble type of abbey, not something elaborate at all.”
“You heard the guide say that it was visited by both King John and Henry III, Mr Gatley. Why would two powerful Kings come all the way here if it was nothing but a humble Abbey?”
“Your vision of kings, I suspect,” said Gatley, “coincides very closely with the three wise men of the East, in their turbans and shimmering robes.”
Clarissa shook her head. “I am sure the old Kings of England were just as fond of riches and ornament as those of the East. No, I have quite made up my mind. There was power here. I can feel it all around us.”
A sheep just then emerged from the vaulted crypt and put an end to Clarissa’s flight of fancy by bleating loudly. Everyone laughed and the discussion shifted to other things.
***
A picnic was soon served, during which Clarissa returned persistently to the pathos of the ruins, with their air of decadence and neglect.
“If only I could write poetry,” said Clarissa wistfully. “For there must be some way to capture this landscape on paper.”
“Leave poetry to men,” said Channing, chuckling. “Surely watercolours would be far more appropriate. There is nothing more charming than the sight of a young lady sketching or painting.”
“Oh, I am not at all good at painting or sketching. I do not have the patience for it. I find it quite dull,” declared Clarissa loudly.
“I am sure Miss Darcy is proficient at painting,” said Mr Moffet.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“I hope you brought your sketchpad,” said Channing.
“I did,” she was happy to reply, glad to have Channing’s attention. “I will sketch the scene for you,” she offered Clarissa. “Then you will have a memento of your visit to reflect upon at leisure.”
“Perhaps you could also sketch Miss Clarissa into the scene for me,” said Channing, “Then, I too would have a keepsake to reflect upon at leisure.”
So much for gaining Mr Channing’s attention.
***
Georgiana soon discovered that she had gained nothing by offering to sketch and lost a great deal. For she was now forced to sit still and watch everyone else play hide and seek. Even Mr Gatley participated. He ran around and laughed and was as silly as the rest of them, while she was condemned to contemplate the melancholy scene of the crumbled ruins, which she had not even cared about in the first place.
Soon Mrs Gatley, announcing that she was quite tired of sitting after the long carriage ride rose to her feet and suggested to Mrs Channing that a game of hide and seek would surely do them good.
Her sister puckered her lips and looked uncertain. “Do you think so?”
“Of course.”
Mrs Channing, though not convinced, rose and did as she was told, following Mrs Gatley reluctantly.
Only Georgiana and Mrs Moffet were left sitting. The others laughed and shouted and played at hiding.
Her frustration reached such a peak that she felt quite prepared to tear up the sketching pad. Fortunately, before she could put into practise such a detrimental plan—for she would certainly lose face—she hit upon the idea of sketching the young people themselves as they skipped around. It gave her an excuse, at least, to watch Channing more closely.
Sketching their happy faces did not make her feel better. Clarissa was right; there was nothing in the world as dull as sketching.
For good measure, she added some sheep.
Meanwhile, Mrs Moffet, who had been more firm than Mrs Channing in refusing to join in the game, brought her chair closer to Georgiana’s.
A particularly difficult patch of embroidery seemed to require all her attention. She was working on a scene with a swan, and seemed to have reached a part that needed delicate work. She said nothing for several moments.
“You must be very fond of the Odyssey,” remarked Georgiana by and by, feeling that she should make an effort to be polite.
Mrs Moffet denied having read the Odyssey or anything of the classics.
“Indeed,” she said with a laugh, “I have no inclination towards reading at all.
“But one hears these things bandied about everywhere, and the moment dear Odysseus was born, I knew he had the look of a hero, and nothing would satisfy me but to call him by a hero’s name. For I have always disliked my own name, you know. Jane is such a trivial name, and I cannot think that anyone called Jane could possibly be anyone of importance. But with a name like Odysseus, there can be no limit.”
“Foul!” came a cry from Mr Channing, interrupting Mrs Moffet’s explanation. “You are cheating, Mr Moffet! You are not supposed to look while you are counting! What shall we do with him? Shall we dunk him in the river?” He looked at Clarissa.
“By all means,” said Clarissa. “Serves him right for cheating!”
Georgiana wanted to protest that Mr Channing too had cheated, for she had seen him, and that it was hardly fair to punish only Mr Moffet. But Mrs Moffet had grown so alarmed by this time that she rushed forward to defend her son, beating down the hands of Mr Channing with her parasol and chastising him loudly.
“You should be ashamed of yourself. Have you not outgrown this by now? I remember all too well the time you pushed Moffey into the river because his father bought him a mare, and he would not let you ride it. You will not dunk my son or anyone else in the river”—and here she stared significantly at Mr Channing—“simply for opening his eyes while counting. Why, he might catch his death.”
Channing protested that he did not really mean to do it, only to discourage Moffet from cheating again.
Meanwhile, Mr Moffet, hi
s neck cloth awry and his hair as ruffled as his pride, glared at Channing.
“Oh come, Moffey,” said Channing with the familiarity of a childhood friend. “Surely you don’t mean to hold it against me. Where’s your sporting nature?”
Mrs Moffet, reassured that her son was not to be mauled or thrown into the river in the near future, returned to her seat, looking satisfied. As if she had never been interrupted, she picked up the threads of her conversation with Georgiana.
“I chose the name Athena for the same reason, you know,” said Mrs Moffet. “Is it not the best name a girl can have?”
“Athena has a noble ring to it,” replied Georgiana.
“Yes, it does indeed,” replied Mrs Moffet. “The name of a goddess will give her a great advantage in life, mark my words.”
Mrs Moffet’s mission in life was to improve the situation of her children, for she was convinced that her own lot in life would have been much better if only her parents had tried harder to provide her with the advantages needed for success.
“Not that I have anything to complain of in Mr Moffet. He is a perfectly respectable gentleman and has proved to be a very obliging father, and we rub along well enough. But even he agrees with me that one must not become complacent, and must always strive to improve oneself and do everything one can to assure that one’s children’s lot is better than one’s own.”
Georgiana wondered how much Mr Moffet agreed with his wife, since he had remained in the country, steadfastly refusing to go up to Town.
“Is he not very handsome? Mr Channing was always jealous of him, for my son is certainly the handsomer of the two,” asked Mrs Moffet proudly, putting down her embroidery and following her son with her eyes. “The girl who catches my Odysseus’s fancy will quickly realise how lucky she is to have him.”
Just then Miss Moffet let out a scream and ran towards them, with Channing in hot pursuit. She took refuge behind Georgiana’s chair, and Georgiana, faced with Channing in front of her and Athena behind, her, covered her sketchbook to prevent her sketch from tearing. A playful dodging game ensued, in which Athena proved very skilful at evading Channing. Georgiana meanwhile did not know where to look, for Channing was far too close to her. Fortunately, the game came to an end when Channing lunged at Athena and caught her by her dress.
The Darcy Cousins Page 19
