The Daughters of Mrs Peacock

by Gerald Bullet

  ‘By Jove, Miss Peacock, I am a lucky fellow! Shall we take a turn on the lawn?’

  Her answer was interrupted by the Master of Ceremonies. ‘Take your partners, ladies and gentlemen, for the waltz.’ The fiddles struck up; and the next moment she found herself in the respectful embrace of this gallant middle-aged gentleman—he could hardly be less than thirty-five—and surrendering happily to his expert guidance, the hypnotic dancing rhythm, and the magical half-melancholy charm of Greensleeves. Her eyes modestly downcast, she was but vaguely aware of his ardent gaze, the firm pressure of his clasp on her waist; and when presently he manœuvred her, still dancing, through the french windows into the open air, she woke with a start of surprise as from a dream.

  ‘Cooler out here,’ he explained. ‘More room, don’t you know. Quite a crush, what?’

  Preoccupied by the difference between a ballroom floor and even the smoothest lawn, she made no answer. She and her partner were but one of a dozen couples who had had the same idea and were enjoying the fresh air, the fragrant grass, and the sense of a vast overarching sky in which dusk was fast gathering. The sprays of the cedar rustled faintly in the light breeze. The Chinese lanterns glowed pink and blue and green, like luminous fruits. Up here on this green eminence, with the valley below growing ever more dim and conjectural, a miniature patchwork of cultivation dotted by tiny buildings in which here and there a light fitfully sparkled, Julia could imagine she was dancing on the top of a visibly round world.

  But suddenly the music ceased, and at once self-consciousness returned to her. The couples on the lawn began drifting back to the ballroom, in search of their next partners.

  ‘Shall we go in, Captain Beckoning?’ said Julia. She felt it her duty to be rid of him.

  ‘And dance again? Yes, by Jove! Unless you will give me the pleasure of showing you the garden?’

  ‘Thank you, but it’s rather too late for that, don’t you think? Besides,’ she reminded him, ‘you have other guests.’

  He laughed, a hearty guffaw. ‘You mean the little stepmater will be after me, what? She’s a tartar, and no mistake, for keeping a fellow in order. But tell me, Miss Peacock, why haven’t we met before? I’ve been wasting my time until now, I find.’

  ‘Surely not? You’ve been serving your country,’ she answered hurriedly. ‘Have you seen much action, Captain Beckoning, against those terrible black people?’

  ‘All in the day’s work, ma’am. They’re uncommonly troublesome at times.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt you’re very brave,’ she said.

  ‘Terrified, I assure you,’ he answered with a grin. ‘But one doesn’t let the men know. That would never do.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you,’ said Julia. ‘And now I really think we must go in.’

  Instead of offering his arm he seized her hand. ‘I say … By Jove, Miss Peacock!’

  Snatching the hand away, she asked forbiddingly: ‘What am I to understand by that remark, Captain Beckoning?’

  ‘By Jove, Miss Peacock, I’ve never met a girl like you before.’

  ‘Then let us hope it will be a lesson to you.’

  She began walking away. He followed, full of contrition.

  ‘I say! Don’t be hard on a fellow. High spirits and all that, don’t you know. I’d cut my right arm off rather than offend you.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Julia. ‘I am not offended. Only a little surprised.’ A formal speech, but not far from the truth. She was surprised not only by his freedom, but still more by her failure to resent it.

  ‘Aren’t you really? I say! That is good of you. Will you dance the next with me, to show there’s no ill feeling?’

  Preceding him through the french windows, ‘Certainly not!’ she said severely, over her shoulder. ‘You must dance with someone else, and so must I.’

  The second dance was already beginning, but no sooner had she entered the room than an unattached male presented himself.

  ‘Come along, Julia,’ said Jack Claybrook. ‘Off we go!’

  ‘That’s not the way to ask. Where are your manners, pray?’

  He made a profound obeisance. ‘May I have the honour, Miss Peacock?’

  ‘With pleasure, Mr Claybrook. Little as you deserve it.’

  He stared, in amusement and surprise. This was a Julia he had not seen before.

  As they joined the dance, ‘Something’s happened to you, Julia,’ he accused her. ‘Come on now. Tell your old uncle.’

  ‘My uncles aren’t here,’ she retorted. ‘Where are your cousins? Are they nice?’

  ‘Not bad, when they’re washed. I believe you’re enjoying this party.’

  ‘Of course. Aren’t you?’

  Conversation was suspended while they gave themselves to the pleasure of the dance. But Julia, in part of her mind, was still turning over the astonishing fact that someone, for the first time in her life, had tried to flirt with her. After a second dance with Jack Claybrook she pleaded fatigue and sat out the third with him in a quiet corner, from which they could idly watch the couples floating past.

  Fearful lest he should read her thoughts, ‘I like the old dances best, don’t you?’ she remarked. ‘Like Tolly-polly and All in a Garden Green.’

  ‘Me, I don’t care what it is,’ said Jack Claybrook. Anything for a romp.’

  She examined him thoughtfully, with a sidelong glance. The elder of ‘the Claybrook boys’—an affectionate misnomer, for they were both past thirty—was a large creature, discreetly whiskered, broad-shouldered, with a long gaunt face, prominent ears, and a jutting, cleanshaven chin. The surprising thing about him was his voice, which, though he could roar like a bull on occasion, was in ordinary conversation quiet and gentle, with a hint of shyness, and his manner in general oddly at variance with his somewhat bucolic appearance. He walked with the gait of a man accustomed to striding across ploughed fields; his talk was mainly of crops and his humour primitive; yet he danced, Julia thought, like an angel, and looked wonderfully nice in his unaccustomed evening clothes. She was now relaxed, fortified by his uninspiring but goodnatured company, so restful after suffering the attentions of Captain Beckoning with his meaning looks and loud nervous guffaws. She could not remember a time when Jack Claybrook and his brother Will had not been a familiar part of her environment. They had teased and petted her as a child, and now treated her with an easy intimacy tempered only by respect for her years and elegance. It was a most satisfying relationship, to which she had never until now given a moment’s thought.

  ‘That’s not true,’ she said. ‘You’re no romper. You dance very well.’

  ‘Thank you, miss. May I have that in writing?’

  ‘You don’t need any testimonials from me. I wonder what Sarah and Catherine are up to. With such a crowd there’s no finding anyone. I saw them both a minute ago. Sarah was dancing with Papa of all people.’

  ‘So she is still. Look! Is there to be an interval for supper, do you suppose? Or do we go and help ourselves as the spirit moves us? It’s all laid out in the next room. Enough for an army. I had a peep.’

  Julia did not answer. Her glance had strayed to the french windows, through which, coming in from the garden, stepped a tall figure in scarlet uniform.

  ‘There she is.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Catherine.’

  His eyes followed hers. ‘So she is, with your soldier man in tow. The son and heir.’

  ‘Are you getting hungry, Jack?’ said Julia. ‘How prosaic of you.’

  ‘What is he like, that fellow?’ Jack asked, eyeing her curiously.

  ‘Shshsh!’ Though her eyes were now averted she was aware that the fellow in question had arrived within a few yards of where they were sitting. ‘Keep on talking,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but about something else. Did I tell you? Blossom has a heifer calf. She’s a beauty, with a white star on her forehead. We’re all so glad it’s a heifer.’

  At that moment the music of the fiddles died away, and
the dance was over. In the momentary silence, before general chatter broke out, a drawling masculine voice, as of one in a trance of admiration, was heard to exclaim:

  ‘By Jove, Miss Catherine! … By Jove, what!’

  Julia, to her dismay, felt herself colouring. She did not care two straws for Captain Beckoning, was resolved to avoid him, and yet … she was conscious of being shocked and disappointed. It would be Sarah’s turn next, she supposed; and then every other young woman in the room. Embarrassed by his proximity she hoped he would not see her, he having no eyes but for Catherine; but Catherine herself put an end to the hope by turning from him with a toss of the head, an amused shrug of slim shoulders, to say ‘Hullo’ to Jack Claybrook, who, rising and taking her ingenuously outstretched hands, promptly asked her for a dance. How pretty she looks, thought Julia in surprise, and how young!—envying Catherine her cornflower-blue eyes, her red-gold hair, her lily-and-roses complexion: all so much more attractive, she imagined, than her own dark enchantment, notwithstanding that the gallant Captain, with no visible effort, had instantly transferred his look of adoration to herself.

  ‘By Jove, Miss Peacock! We meet again. May I have the honour …?’

  Miss Peacock, with cold civility, prayed he would excuse her, and while he was obtusely arguing the point a commanding voice announced that the supper interval had arrived: whereupon the communicating doors were flung open and all the company began surging into the next room, each face concealing its eagerness under a mask of perfect indifference to anything so gross as food.

  ‘Good idea,’ said the Captain. ‘Deuced peckish, between ourselves. Let’s put on the nosebag together, Miss Peacock, shall we?’ He smiled at her possessively, twirling his moustaches in high satisfaction.

  There being no escape, she suffered herself to be guided, with his hand on her elbow, into the supper-room, while contriving to keep as near as possible to Catherine and Jack. Supper proved to be an informal, go-as-you-please affair, a glittering, chattering scene. Footmen and maidservants, with countrified accents and the manners of dukes and duchesses, were in watchful attendance. There was not seating enough for so large a company: a proportion of the gentlemen had to eat and drink standing, or wait their turn at the long table. This happy circumstance absolved Julia from the necessity of talking to her escort, but did not prevent his hovering. He did not trouble her with much conversation: it was only in a tête-à-tête that his genius fully blossomed. He had to content his ardour with seeing that she was plentifully supplied with cold chicken, jellies, and claret-cup. But she was conscious of his near presence, knew that as soon as supper was over he would renew his petition for another dance, and for a reason obscure to her was determined to disappoint him.

  To leave the table without ceremony, making room for someone else, was in these special circumstances a virtue. Julia did so as soon as chance offered, choosing a moment when Captain Beckoning’s vigilance was relaxed; but before she had taken many steps he turned his head, in mid-munch, saw her, and at once bore down upon her, sandwich in hand, with long purposeful strides. Her irritation became fury; consciousness of fury, and of the scene it might lead to unless she took hold of herself, dissolved into panic. She moved swiftly, almost running, to the nearest door, and the next moment found herself not in the ballroom but in a part of the house that was foreign territory to her.

  The situation was desperate. She would not go back and risk capture. She could not stay where she was, lest he should follow her, perhaps—scandalous, humiliating thought!—taking her flight for an invitation. She was committed to the unseemly adventure of exploring a strange house in search of a temporary hiding-place. Reason whispered that such conduct was unworthy of her mother’s daughter, that she was behaving like an hysterical child; but anger and the stubborn resolve to escape made her deaf to its voice.

  She ran down a corridor, ascended a broad flight of stairs, and plunged into the first room that offered, shutting the door behind her. She stood breathless, her heart racing, slowly assimilating a shock of astonishment to which at first she could ascribe no cause. Subconsciously she had expected the room to be in darkness: the sight of a lamp, glowing like a harvest moon, made her eyes widen in wonder and nameless alarm. It took her some seconds, measured in a beating pulse, to realize that she was not alone, that from the shadows beyond, from a half-seen sedentary figure beyond the lamplight’s glow, a pair of steely eyes, under raised eyebrows, were intently regarding her.

  A gasp of terror escaped Julia. No words would come. Her impulse was to turn and run. She could not move.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  The voice had neither warmth nor colour. It was dry, toneless, mechanical, a clockwork voice: as though a skeleton had spoken, or a giant insect, all legs and staring eyes.

  Julia stammered: ‘I beg your pardon. I am so sorry. I didn’t know.’

  ‘Ah! So you have a tongue. Come here, girl. Let me look at you.’

  Reluctant, but waking from her nightmare, for the note of irascibility was at least human, Julia obeyed. The two stared at each other for a long silent moment, the girl meekly standing, her inquisitor, a small cadaverous aged lady, sitting very erect and still in a high invalid-chair, one gaunt hand folded over the handle of an ebony stick, the other lying in her lap. Her grey face, the skin tightly stretched over jutting bones, seemed to be balanced precariously on the collar of a beaded black bodice that held her frame together: at any moment, in Julia’s fancy, she might disintegrate and decompose.

  ‘That’s better. Take a good look, child. I am Gwendolen Mallard. Who are you?’

  ‘Julia Peacock, ma’am.’

  ‘Peacock? Peacock? Ah, the lawyer’s daughter. Why aren’t you dancing with the others?’

  ‘I beg you will forgive the intrusion, Lady Mallard. I didn’t know anyone was here.’

  ‘Never mind. Never mind. Take a good look at me while you’ve the chance. You don’t see a corpse every day. Yes, I’m dead. Don’t interrupt me. I’ve been dead for three years, all but this useless body, this beating heart. Gwendolen Mallard, made perfect by suffering. And to this you must all come, my dear, every Jack and Jill of you. Have you a lover?’

  ‘I don’t understand you,’ said Julia, half-affronted.

  ‘Fiddlesticks! You’re a young, ripe girl. Have you a lover, I say?’

  ‘No, madam. I have not.’

  ‘Then get you one, while you still can. You haven’t much time, let me tell you. Only fifty years or so. And when they’re gone they’ll seem no more than a day.’ The eyelids came down, over the staring eyes. ‘You may go now. Go and enjoy yourself.’ The mouth shut tight.

  ‘Well, my dears, did you enjoy yourselves?’ asked Mrs Peacock, on the way home.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mama,’ said Sarah sleepily.

  ‘It was delicious,’ murmured Catherine, smiling to herself.

  ‘And my Julia? Has she nothing to say?’

  ‘It was a lovely ball,’ said Julia, ‘especially after supper. What a nice old gentleman the Colonel is. I danced with him twice. So clever of him, with only one arm, poor man. It’s wonderful how he manages. Don’t you think so, Papa?’

  ‘Yes, my dear. But we old gentlemen are wonderful. You have only to look at me. Here I am, still awake, at two o’clock in the morning.’ He yawned prodigiously. ‘The countryside looks good, doesn’t it, in moonlight. A pity we’ve got to go home. How would it be if we spent the rest of the night in the fields and watched the dawn in. What do you say, Emily?’

  ‘Do let’s, Papa,’ cried Catherine. ‘I’m sure I don’t want to go to bed. I shan’t sleep a wink.’

  ‘You’re all tired out,’ said Mrs Peacock, in a tone of great satisfaction, ‘and tomorrow you’ll be fit for nothing. Your father and I had such a nice talk with young Mrs Beckoning. Didn’t we, Edmund?’

  ‘Did we, my dear? Yes, I expect we did.’

  ‘So polite and unassuming. You’d never guess she was related to the peerage.’r />
  ‘Why, Mama? Is the peerage always rude?’ asked Catherine.

  ‘So devoted to her children,’ said Mrs Peacock. ‘It was pretty to see. And to the Colonel too, of course.’

  ‘Nice of her to include him in her regard,’ remarked Mr Peacock, ‘seeing he’s only her husband.’

  ‘Don’t be naughty, Edmund. You know very well there must be nearly thirty years between them.’

  ‘Is that too much, Mama?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘That,’ said Mrs Peacock, primming her lips, ‘is not for us to say. If the Colonel chooses to have a second family, it is no one’s business but his.’

  ‘Except, perhaps, his wife’s,’ suggested Edmund. ‘The Colonel, I hazard, is of Shakespeare’s opinion, that a man should take a younger than himself so that he can shape her to his liking.’

  ‘How old, do you imagine, is Mr Crabbe, Papa?’

  ‘My imagination, Kitty, has not been engaged by that question. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Would you believe it,’ said Catherine, ‘he danced three times running with that Mrs Stapleton. Is she, do you think, setting her widow’s cap at him?’

  ‘Why not ask her, my love? I’m sure she would be happy to confide in you.’

  Sarah, jerking awake, said drowsily: ‘Am I dreaming? Or are the horses really running away with us?’

  The same idea had occurred to her father. He had been every moment expecting a protest from his wife. They were going downhill at a brisk pace, and the carriage swayed alarmingly. It had been evident, at the setting out, that Harry Dawkins’s entertainment in the servants’ quarters had lacked nothing that could make a man merry while his betters were enjoying the ball; and now, but half way home, snatches of tuneless song put the matter beyond doubt.

  Mr Peacock shouted to him to stop. It took some time for the command to penetrate his understanding, but at last he pulled hard on the reins and flung himself back, lifting the horses’ forelegs three feet from the ground.