Come Be My Love

by Diana Brown

  "And where, may I ask, have you been, Alexandra?" fa­ther enquired far too politely.

  "In my room, reading," I replied dutifully. "

  And what have you been reading?"

  "The tales of King Arthur's court."

  "Is that suitable for her?" he asked my mother. "Isn't there something undesirable in there, something about. . ."

  "It's the book Aunt Maud gave me on my birthday," I interposed hastily.

  "Very well, then, I suppose it is all right."

  Aunt Maud was my father's sister, and I believe she was the only person of whom he stood in awe. "But remember, if you are late again this week, you will have to take your meals in your room for a period I will specify, and I can assure you that they won't be the same as those we have here in the dining room."

  "Yes, father," I said, struggling with a piece of tough mutton and wondering whether bread and milk alone in my room might not be an improvement over both this food and this company.

  Eugenia tossed her fair head and began to discuss the dinner we were to give the following week for the Ramseys. Since it was such a regular occurrence, I wondered at her interest, and then it occurred to me that she might have a mind to make a conquest of George, their eldest son. She had been flirting with Sebastian Fanshawe for some time, but I believed father had put a stop to that. The Fanshawes were not wealthy, and with eleven children to provide for, it was doubtful whether even Sebastian, the eldest, would inherit a great deal.

  Even though Eugenia was not yet seventeen and would not have her London season for another year, she was allowed to attend many social functions. I thought she was lucky, but father was always more lenient with her than with the rest of us. It probably came of her being so pretty.

  "I wish we could get in Bates to tune the piano," Eugenia said. "I'm sure it sounded quite odd last time I sang when the Harringtons were here."

  "Are you sure it was the piano and not your voice?" Paul said, sotto voce, and I suppressed an appreciative giggle.

  "Hush, Paul," mother cautioned, but all father said was, "Call him in if it is necessary," which surprised me, for father was usually against any expense not absolutely essential, and I'd never known him to be particularly fond of music. I sup­pose he was careful rather than parsimonious, for we had all of life's necessities but none of its frivolities. I never knew whether this was by constraint of circumstances or by father's design, but I suspected the latter, for though our estate was not large, he was a prudent manager, and mother had brought him a handsome settlement on their marriage. She had since been the recipient of a sizable bequest on the death of her mother, all of which had disappeared into the family coffers, along with the rents, to be ladled out by father in morsels and mites I sometimes thought he found us as unworthy of receiv­ing as did Mr. Linnell of the holy sacrament, which was begrudgingly offered thrice a year at Easter, Christmas and Whit Sunday, those being the only occasions the communion table was decked with white linen and that privilege conferred on unworthy sinners.

  It occurred to me that father's generosity in this instance might be occasioned by the thought of George Ramsey mak­ing a suitable husband for Eugenia. The Ramseys' wealth and politics were, I knew, to his liking, but my attention was drawn from this line of thought by father's next remark, ad­dressed to my eldest brother.

  "By the way, Thomas, Lord Bladen called this morning to offer you a seat in his coach when Wentworth returns to Oxford for Michaelmas term. I agreed, for it might not be a bad idea for you to get to know the ropes from him in your first year up there, though I know you'll be in Magdalen while he's at Christ Church, which may be just as well, for I don't want you to get mixed up with his political cronies. Apart from that I think Wentworth's quite a steady chap, and since this will be his last year up there, he can probably put you on the right path. I've no objection to Lord Bladen, either, for that matter, though why they are Whigs I'll never under­stand."

  "Just so, father," Thomas agreed.

  A long diatribe followed on the evils of Whig policies, which I did not follow partly because I have never followed father's harangues well but mainly because halfway through his monologue, I became aware that Paul had Sylvester, or the pseudo-Sylvester, in his pocket, or I should say Sylvester was in Paul's pocket until he popped out and looked around and then suddenly jumped to the floor. I felt him run across my feet, and a few moments later I saw an odd look on Eugenia's face and then she looked down and screamed and, jumping onto her chair, she overturned her plate.

  "What on earth is the matter with you, my girl?" my father shouted, annoyed at the disruption of the meal but more so at the disruption of his discourse for he had just reached his favourite part, describing the methods of young Pitt in overthrowing the Whig aristocracy.

  "It's . . . it's a frog," Eugenia shrieked.

  "Don't be ridiculous and sit down," said father and turned to call the maid to clean up the mess when, unfortu­nately, Sylvester chose that moment to jump onto father's lap. At his muttered, "By God, you're right," the creature jumped from there onto father's plate and spluttered in among the green peas. Cassy screamed, as did Netty, and James chortled with delight. I never enjoyed anything so much in all my life and started to laugh too but I suddenly wondered whether that would not widen my mouth, so I reduced my laugh to a snigger, which brought down father's wrath upon my head.

  "This is some of your doing, I have no doubt, Alex­andra," he shouted, his face growing red. Infuriated at the mess Sylvester was making of his plate, he flicked at him with his table napkin, and Sylvester hopped from there across the table, upsetting a carafe of father's port before leaping across the room to make his escape through the service hatch. It was too much for me. Ladylike or not, I burst into laughter.

  "You will go up to your room and stay there until I come to talk to you, do you understand?" father roared.

  "Yes, father," I said meekly, and Paul, who throughout the fracas had assumed a distant expression of one unwilling to become involved, gave me a thankful glance.

  "I'll bring you up something," he whispered as I left the table, but I shook my head. I would be only too glad to gain the quiet and solace of my own room, where I could dream of Darius.

  II

  Except for Sunday mattins I was confined to my room for a week, but I didn't mind. I caught a glimpse of Darius at the church service and again the following week when he came to call for Thomas to take him up to Oxford. We all gathered on the front steps to bid Thomas farewell. As Darius stood aside waiting for my brother, I found it difficult to believe that only three years separated them. Darius seemed so much older and so worldly. I wondered whether my brother would resemble him after the experience of Oxford, but I could not imagine Thomas with the same degree of self-assurance, the same deb­onair manner.

  The Bladen coach with its four perfectly matched greys and the family crest upon the door—three white swans within an azure border—waited as mother tried not to cry and we all stood solemnly and one by one shook hands with Thomas. Darius caught sight of me and smiled.

  "I see the frog saviour is here to bid you farewell, Cox-Neville. You may do well to take her as an example when you become bogged down in university precepts."

  Thomas looked unhappy at being asked to consider me, whom he found completely beneath his contempt, as an exam­ple, and I was sure father saw in the remark confirmation of his judgement in punishing me for the incident in the dining room the previous week, but that was unimportant. I was elated that Darius had remembered me.

  "Come now," Darius said to Thomas, wrongly attribut­ing his long face to a reluctance to leave home, "don't look so glum. Remember, James the First said if he were not king he would like to be an Oxford man."

  As they pulled away, all of us except father waving and Paul and James giving chase to the coach down the driveway, I envied Thomas the journey and the opportunity of enjoying for so many hours the com-pany of my newfound love.

  Paul was the first to not
ice a change in me. "What's the matter with you?" he asked with asperity the third time I had refused to play outside with him.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, you won't play with me, and you're mooning around the house, and this morning I heard you tell Eugenia that you would like to go over to Charteris with her the next time she visits Margaret Wentworth. I know they won't let you listen to their talk, and you can't abide Patience, so why on earth would you want to go there?"

  Paul was right. It was unusual that I should want to go to Charteris, for although Eugenia was friendly with Darius's seventeen-year-old sister, Margaret, I had never taken to his younger sister, Patience, who, although she was my age, was concerned only with feminine pursuits and wiles which there­tofore had held little interest for me. However, in an effort to gain more frequent access to the home of my idol and to be­come better acquainted with his family, I had decided to culti­vate her friendship. Eugenia had not been particularly pleased when I had suggested accom-panying her, but she had be-grudgingly acquiesced when I promised to behave with de­corum. The morning we were to go I took such pains with my appearance, and during the visit I conducted myself in such a ladylike manner, that I believe she was surprised. I believe I had also surprised Patience, she of the carefully curled dark brown hair and immaculate garb, for I had agreed with all the views she expressed, though in truth scarcely any of them were my own, with the result that I received an invitation to return to see her doll collection.

  It was because of my love for Darius that I learned the art of dissimulation as a means of achieving an end, that end being the ability to visit Charteris as often as I wished, to hear his name spoken, to become familiar with the rooms he graced, to be known by those he knew, to learn his likes and dislikes, to keep him with me even though he was far away, for to me at that time, Oxford represented the end of the earth. I soon discovered no prompting was necessary to hear his name, for he was idolized not only by all the members of his family but by the servants also. Once, on my way to examine Pa­tience's doll collection, I had managed to slip away and peep into his bedroom. It was a large, airy room dominated by a four-poster canopied bed and a huge wardrobe. I studied the contents of his bookcase. Bentham's Principles of Morals and Leg­islation looked dull; preferable was Scott's Waverly and Byron's Childe Harold, next to which a slim volume, Black Marigolds, caught my eye. But Patience's petulant calling of my name prevented my opening it. I had time only to run my fingers lovingly across the monogram engraved on the silver-backed brushes on his dressing table before hurrying from the room and carefully closing the door behind me. How his sister would laugh and tease if she ever discovered my passion. Mine was a lonely love.

  Lord Bladen I liked tremendously, and not simply be­cause Darius resembled him, having the same deepset eyes and that straight Wentworth nose, haughty yet befitting his craggy face. There was dignity and grace in his bearing that no education could bestow, yet he was not a handsome man, and it was obvious that Darius had inherited his regularity of features from his mother, a comely woman, though when first I knew her I stood in awe, finding her cold and exacting.

  I took pains to maintain my ladylike conduct not only at Charteris but also at home, much to Paul's disgust, so that it was remarked how much I had suddenly grown up. Would Darius also notice the change in me when he came home, I wondered. Patience certainly did. I had once heard her de­scribe me as a tomboy who could never stay clean from one minute to the next, and my new mode of behaviour did not altogether please her, for she would often try to goad me into pranks or acts of caprice.

  One day she had been particularly galling, wishing, I think, to force me into a dispute. I held my temper, knowing that if I quarrelled with her, my visits to Charteris might be at an end.

  "Now you're such a little lady I suppose you've forgotten how to climb trees," she jeered.

  "Of course I haven't. I just don't wish to anymore."

  She stopped as we walked along the stone path that skirted their orchard.

  "What a pity!" She pointed up into one of the apple trees. "I would so like to have an apple, but they are quite out of my reach."

  "Goodness me, they're hardly out of reach at all. It would only mean getting into the fork of those main branches and reaching over. I could get them easily—if I wished," I retorted.

  "But what if you fell? You might hurt yourself. I bet you're scared."

  "Of course I wouldn't fall. I've climbed much more diffi­cult trees than this one—when I used to climb trees, that is."

  "I really would like one of those apples, but I wouldn't ask you to get it for me, since you're scared."

  "I am not scared. Here, hold this."

  I pushed into her arms a bunch of autumn foliage I had gathered and hoisted my skirts and was in among the branches in an instant. I leaned over to pick an apple, but Patience called up to me that the fruit was much larger and riper further out on the branch, and I crawled out in the direction she was pointing. As I leaned forward to pick the biggest and reddest of them all, I heard a sickening creak and then a cracking as the limb broke. I reached for another branch, but it was too slight to bear my weight. The last thing I heard was a resounding snap as the branch gave way. For a moment I was aware of Patience's horrified face, then the crazy paving of the path rising inexorably towards me.

  I regained consciousness in a bedroom that was not my own. At my bedside I recognized the anxious faces of Lady Bladen and my mother. Behind them stood Linbury's apothe­cary, Mr. Wilson.

  "Thank goodness, she's opening her eyes at last." I heard Lady Bladen sigh with relief. "My dear Alex-andra, you had us all so worried. How do you feel?"

  I assured them I was all right, but when I went to move my head, it ached, and I flinched.

  "You are not to move. Mr. Wilson says you should stay here until you feel completely well. Your mother and sisters can come to see you whenever they wish, but I refuse to send you home until I am quite satisfied that you are perfectly well. We shall take great care of you."

  I was sure they would. I nodded and closed my eyes and went back to sleep, gratified by the realization that my acci­dent, untoward as it was, had placed me where I most wished to be.

  My stay at Charteris lasted well over a month, and it was then I became acquainted with its great library which, oc­cupying as it did the whole west side of the house, was consid­ered, with good reason, to be its most majestic room.

  The walls, for the most part, were devoted to bookcases from floor to ceiling, and those that were free of books were covered with Cordova leather. The Bladen crest was carved over the great fireplace, before which was a large bearskin rug.

  The ceiling, comprising seven vaulted compartments, was of oak, each compartment decorated with a painting of a scene from Homer's Odyssey.

  The library was a majestic room, yet it was one to which I became accustomed and which became a home for me. It was there I was carried from my room when Mr. Wilson pro­nounced me well enough to leave my bed. A chair was set for me at the fireside, and beside it a table with a selection of books especially chosen for my enjoyment by Lord Bladen. I think my interest in reading surprised him, his own daughters not caring to pass their time in like manner, and he came daily to discuss with me what I had read, asking me to question him on anything that needed explanation and suggesting further readings in which I might be interested. It was for this reason that I remained so long, for I was probably capable of return­ing home before two weeks of my stay at Charteris had been completed. But I so enjoyed the hours spent in the library and the interest Lord Bladen took in me that I preferred to remain there and continued to complain of headaches long after they had ceased. This deception was not entirely fair to Patience, who felt responsible for my mishap and had been particularly kind to me during my stay in her home, insisting I accept her favourite hair comb as a present, but unscrupulously I did not enlighten her as to my bettered state of health. When at last I knew I must return home, my fat
her having visited me twice to ascertain for himself my condition, I acknowledged to Lord Bladen how unhappy I was at the thought of leaving behind all the books and the hours of enjoyment I had spent in his library and in his company.

  "But that is ridiculous," he said. "We are neighbours. Seton Place is only a stone's throw from Charteris. There is no reason you shouldn't come here as often as you wish. I'm sure no one except me uses this collection when Darius is away, and it is a great shame, for I and my father and his father before him have spent a great deal of time and effort in its accumulation. If you wish me to, I can set out a plan for your reading. I can assure you it would give me the greatest plea­sure. I will, of course, ask your father's permission first. Then you may come here as often as you wish in order to read, or you may take the books home with you and read them there if you would prefer."

  "Oh, no," I insisted, "I would much rather read here. It is so quiet and comfortable. Our home is not as large as Char­teris, and there are so many people around that it is sometimes very difficult to find a quiet spot, especially when the weather is bad and I cannot go out of doors."

  "Very well, then, that is settled," he asserted.

  Lord Bladen was as good as his word. He put a great deal of time into a planned approach for me to read the books he considered essential to a humanistic education, and he must have used all his charm on father, for I was amazed when he gave his permission for me to visit Charteris to pursue my studies after my return home. Perhaps he thought that it was an inexpensive means for me to obtain an education, though since he did not believe in educating women, I doubt that that could have persuaded him. He was, of course, not insensible to the fact that it gave our governess more time to devote to the studies of my younger brother and sister. Whatever had occa­sioned his decision, I took care to behave with propriety in his presence, and my ladylike conduct pleased him. He may have thought my reading had improved my manners, though I can­not guarantee this to be a necessary corollary. Rather my good manners stemmed from a desire to continue my visits to Char­teris, and I knew that to incur father's displeasure was a sure means of exscinding that pleasure.