A London Season

by Anthea Bell

  And if it were so, Elinor caught herself thinking, could she really find it in her to blame them? Did the difference in rank and fortune truly matter so much, with a lifetime’s happiness at stake? Good God, she told herself, shocked, I am becoming as bad as Persephone! Anybody would suppose, only because I am in love too—not that anyone else will ever know of that—I am as foolish as a girl of eighteen following the dictates of her fancy! Well, I did follow them once, did I not, when I was eighteen myself? And look what came of that!

  However (and her thoughts kept coming full circle) Robert Walter was a very different creature from Grenville Royden. She was half resolved to suggest to Sir Edmund very tentatively, when next they had leisure to talk, that if Persephone’s affection really did stand the test of time—say another three years?—the alliance might at least be considered, though she did not honestly see how that could be. There would be less difficulty if the child were not such an heiress! But since she was, how could Sir Edmund, as a conscientious guardian, ever agree?

  She was careful not to relax her vigilance: clandestine meetings between the lovers, such as had certainly occurred in Bath, would never do, least of all in the middle of the London Season. But the sympathy she felt for the younger girl had brought them closer together again, and their old, affectionate relationship had revived. The temporary coolness between them, as Elinor knew, had been largely of Mr. Royden’s contriving, and she was still at a loss to know what he made of the appearance of Mr. Walter upon the scene. It had undoubtedly thrust a spoke into the wheel of any hopes he himself had of matrimony—or had he only been teasing her, after all, when he told her of them? Now that Charlotte had made such a fine match, he ought to be content!

  She got a little insight into the former relationship between Grenville and Persephone when, walking home with her from a visit to a silk warehouse one day, the latter pointed out an alley. “That is one of the streets where Mr. Royden thought he had heard of some young musicians from the Continent lodging, but of course it was not Robert, or even the others. Poor Mr. Royden!”

  “Why do you say poor Mr. Royden?”

  “Oh, because he was in love with me himself. He told me so!” explained Persephone, sunnily. “But of course I let him know directly how things were, and he immediately said he fully partook of my sentiments, much as he must regret them for his own part, and he honoured me for them.”

  “Did he, indeed?” said Elinor, a little drily.

  “Yes, and he tried to be so helpful to me. Naturally, nothing came of it, because Robert did not arrive in London until a couple of days before the Brindisi, just long enough to rehearse with Franz and Josef and Johann.”

  “Do they all live together when they are in London?”

  “No, for the others are here most of the time, lodging somewhere in Soho, while Robert goes about the country more, and he has taken rooms of his own in West Brompton, wherever that may be—I am not perfectly sure,” Persephone chattered on. At least, Elinor reflected, that meant there had not (awful thought!) been any secret visits to Mr. Walter’s lodgings. Not that she supposed there could have been; she had been so dutifully close in attending on her charge that she must surely have known of such a thing.

  “And do you know,” continued Persephone, “only the other day, too, poor Mr. Royden told me how, having met Robert, he now saw only too clearly the vanity of his own aspirations to my hand! Those were his own words—don’t you think it was prettily said? And he told me how he felt for both of us, and would do anything in his power to assist us! It was most affecting, and I felt quite sorry for him.” Elinor forebore to make any reply to this, although it troubled her a little for a while. Then she put it out of her mind. After all, she thought, they did seem to be weathering quite remarkably well the potentially disastrous irruption of Mr. Robert Walter into their lives.

  15

  Such a happy state of affairs could not last; Elinor supposed that this would have been too much to hope for. All too soon, the family’s peace was disturbed by Persephone’s discovery that the Yoxfords intended to go down to their house in Hampshire at the end of July, as usual, to spend at least two months there.

  Her reaction was one of sheer dismay. “I can’t go! I won’t go!” she declared.

  “But my dear, everybody leaves London at the end of the Season,” protested Isabella.

  “No, they do not! You cannot tell me there is nobody left at all to—to run the businesses, and sell things in the shops, and so forth!”

  “I mean everybody of our sort,” said Isabella rather helplessly, at which Persephone curled her lip with unutterable scorn. “Besides, in August, you know, it is not at all healthy in town. One would very likely catch the most horrid fever if one remained here.”

  “I wouldn’t,” stated Persephone, with sublime confidence. “I can very well stay here on my own with Elinor, and just a couple of the servants, of course.”

  “Suppose Elinor wants to go to the country?” remarked Lord Yoxford. “What about that, eh, puss?”

  “Persephone, it would not answer,” said Elinor quietly. “I am afraid that it would not be at all the thing. You will like it in the country when we get there. I have never been in Hampshire myself, but I believe it is very pretty, isn’t it, Cousin Isabella?”

  “Who cares for that?” said Persephone fretfully. “I shan’t see any of my friends!”

  “Oh, well, as to that, you certainly wouldn’t see them if you stayed in town, since they’ll all be gone out of London too,” said Yoxford cheerfully, in the fond belief that he had now cleared up the difficulty.

  Persephone’s mouth was ominously mutinous, and it cost her an obvious effort not to state what was perfectly clear to everyone but his lordship: namely, that the person she most desired to be near would not be taking part in the general exodus of polite society from London at the end of the Season. Later, Elinor tried to console her by pointing out that the removal to Hampshire was still some weeks ahead, but Miss Grafton was not to be comforted. “The time will go so fast, I know it will! And then perhaps I shall never see him again!” she wailed.

  She became her vivacious self once more as soon as Mr. Walter came near her, but Elinor was very sure that there were night-time fits of weeping, for the traces of tears were often visible on Persephone’s face in the morning. It was hardly surprising, thought Elinor, when she came down to breakfast one day pale, with swollen eyelids and a generally listless demeanour, that she subsequently complained of a sick headache and declined to accompany Isabella and Elinor to walk in the Park, saying she would go and lie down instead.

  The two ladies had not been walking very long when they encountered Lord Conington, with Charlotte and Grenville Royden, and the two parties fell in together. Isabella, who was not without some native common sense, had soon realized that nothing would ever have come of Connington’s original admiration of Miss Grafton, and by now acquitted Charlotte of snapping him up from under Persephone’s nose—indeed, no one acquainted with Charlotte’s warm, forthright nature could seriously have considered her capable of such intriguing, and Lady Yoxford, a warmhearted woman, was quite in charity with her again. She was therefore willing enough to stroll on ahead with the engaged couple when Mr. Royden showed that he would like to walk with Elinor, saying easily that it seemed a long time since he and she had a comfortable cose.

  A comfortable cose was precisely what Elinor did not expect from Mr. Royden, and her thoughts must have shown in her face, for ascertaining that the others were out of earshot, he laughed and said, “Don’t look so wary! Do you not anticipate my grateful thanks to you, which I believe I have so far neglected to offer, for bringing that about?” He nodded towards Conington and Charlotte. “Just the kind of thing I required of you!”

  “It was none of my doing, and I certainly do not set up as matchmaker,” said Elinor tartly.

  “Come, don’t snap my head off! But perhaps it is only because you are tired—you do look a little tired. I fancy the
task of watchdog to Miss Grafton isn’t always an easy one, with our musical friend for ever in the offing.”

  “That is nothing to do with you, Mr. Royden,” said she, wearily, for she was indeed tired and had no desire to prolong this tête à tête.

  “No? But perhaps I am distressed at being cut out.”

  “Nonsense!” she said roundly. “You know very well that while you wormed your way into the child’s confidence as a friend, and though you may now have spun her an affecting tale of noble renunciation—”

  “Told you that, did she?” he said thoughtfully.

  “Yes, and I don’t know or wish to know your reason. The point is that you don’t care a scrap for her, and you must be aware that, very luckily, she never had any tender feeling for you. You had better be content with Charlotte’s marriage, as you told me you would.”

  “Ah, but who knows if Conington there will prove quite as open-handed as I would like? I must say, the idea of matrimony has taken quite a hold upon me,” he said lightly. “And to think of that fortune of Miss Grafton’s being thrown away on a feckless, romantical musician wrings one’s heart.”

  “Don’t let that trouble you! They will not marry.”

  “Suppose they were to elope, though? For they might, might they not?”

  But this seemed to Elinor so wide of the mark that she even smiled. “Hardly! Mr. Walter may not be an eligible husband for Persephone, but I have a considerable esteem for him; he would never do anything so shocking!”

  “She might persuade him, though ... I fancy she could be very persuasive. Of course, she doesn’t gain possession of her fortune for some while yet—particularly if she marries against her family’s wishes, I suppose—but love has been known to find a way, as you must be aware. ” She bit her lip, trying not to show her vexation. “How would it be,” he continued meditatively, “if I were to play Cupid to our lovers? Or is it Pandarus I mean?”

  “Good God, what possible good could that do you?” she said, startled.

  “Ah!” said he, that maddeningly teasing note in his voice. “Wouldn’t you like to know what I have in mind? To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure of it yet myself, but when I am I think that this time, my dear Elinor, I won’t tell you! Look, I fancy it will not be long before these roses are in bloom” he added innocuously, as the other three paused for himself and Elinor to come up with them at the end of the pathway.

  Although this conversation had been distressing, Elinor was pretty sure that its sole aim was to torment her yet again, and resolved not to let it prey upon her mind. By the time she and Isabella reached home, she was tolerably composed. It was all the more dismaying, therefore, to walk straight into the midst of a stormy discussion (if so it could be called) of the very thing she had assured Mr. Royden could never occur.

  Looking in at the door of Persephone’s bedroom, she found it empty, and the sound of agitated voices led her to the Yellow Parlour, where she discovered Miss Grafton attired in a gauzy déshabille of jonquil silk—not at all the kind of garment in which to receive callers—and Robert Walter, to see whom she had presumably risen straight from her sickbed, headache or no. Persephone was flushed and tearful; Mr. Walter, leaning against the pianoforte, very pale. “You don’t love me at all, then! You can’t love me!” Persephone was dramatically protesting.

  “Seffi, I do ; you know I do! But even to think of such a thing—no, we could not!”

  Here they both became suddenly aware of Miss Radley in the doorway, and Persephone, turning to her, uttered a gasp of dismay, her hand flying to her throat. Mr. Walter, Elinor thought, seemed rather relieved than otherwise, and no wonder! For he instantly appealed to her. “Miss Radley, I believe you are our friend—tell her, tell Persephone I cannot run away with her!”

  “Oh!” wailed Persephone, fresh tears overtaking her.

  “Run away? I should think not, indeed! Goodness, what a fuss there would be,” said Elinor mildly, hastening to deprive the scene of some of its drama. “And how hurt the Yoxfords would feel! You can’t have thought of that, Persephone, I am sure.”

  “Who cares how they feel?” cried Persephone.

  “Well, I think you might, for they have been excessively kind to you.”

  “Kind! When they are going to drag me away to Hampshire, and it will be months before I see Robert again, if ever!” she sobbed.

  “Liebchen, do not cry!” he begged. “The time will pass! We have only to wait—”

  “Wait!” repeated Persephone, in tones of utter despair. “—and when I obtain a good post, when my opera is performed—”

  “Robert, no! Even then, do you think my guardian will ever consent? No, he will still insist I must make what is called a good marriage! There is nothing for it: like Angelina and Sempronius, we must fly, we must!” she exclaimed urgently, and buried her face in her hands.

  Mr. Walter spread his own hands helplessly. “In her innocence,” he said quietly to Elinor, “she wished me to elope with her, taking her jewels.” These, comprising a fine string of pearls and several other valuable trinkets, Elinor now saw lying on the table in front of Persephone. “As if a man of honour could do such a thing—but she does not understand; she is too young, her nature too sweet!” he added fondly.

  Elinor fancied that Persephone perfectly understood the impropriety of what she had suggested; after all, it had been very fully pointed out to her at the time of the Unfortunate Business. Upon finding her lover and her friend both ranged against her, however, she once again succumbed to helpless weeping, and it was not the moment to be too bracing. Gently putting an arm round her, Elinor said, “Mr. Walter, I am so sorry for this—and for your own distress, but I really think you had better go now and leave her to me, don’t you? You may rest assured that I am your friend, and I shan’t tell anyone about this notion of Persephone’s.”

  “Thank you, ma’am; you are very good,” said he, distractedly. At the door he hesitated, glancing back with speaking eyes at the bent head of his lachrymose beloved, but then he turned and went quietly away.

  Well, thought Elinor soberly, what an excellent young man he is, after all!

  It took Persephone a good deal of time to quieten down, and Elinor, holding her comfortingly and murmuring a soothing word now and then, had leisure for reflection. One thing is certain, she thought, mechanically stroking the girl’s hair with her free hand, we must not have any more of this! Who knows but that her tears might wear him down in the end? By the time Miss Grafton had drenched her own handkerchief, and Elinor’s, and another, large one which Mr. Walter had presumably been obliged to produce at some point, and had then run out of tears to shed and become calm enough for rational conversation, Elinor had come to a decision.

  “I do feel for you, you know,” she said gently.

  “Do you?” Persephone’s voice was pathetically small and unhappy. “Oh, Elinor, I cannot live without him!” Even her reddened eyes could not quite dim her sorrowful beauty as she sat there, clutching Mr. Walter’s wet handkerchief like a treasure. “Do you really understand?”

  Elinor’s heart was decidedly wrung. “Yes,” she said, assuming a mater-of-fact tone, “and what is more, Persephone, I have come to believe that if all other circumstances were equal, you and Mr. Walter might well be happy together.”

  “Only other circumstances aren’t equal!” said Persephone mournfully. “I only wish I had no fortune, and so does Robert too, for I suppose it is only because of that Cousin Edmund will never agree.”

  “Well, you know, Cousin Edmund is far from being an ogre. I think,” said Elinor warmly, “he is the kindest person I ever met. But the thing is, he is very much aware of his duty, because he was so much attached to your papa. Well, he would be neglecting that duty sadly if he let you marry, at eighteen, quite out of the sort of circles where your family is used to move. It is only natural that he should be wary of persons desirous of getting their hands on your fortune.”

  “As if Robert—” Persephone began
, But Miss Radley firmly interrupted her.

  “Now, my dear, will you listen to me for a few moments? Of course I cannot promise you anything, but I’ll tell you what I will do: I’ll speak to Sir Edmund—”

  “Oh, yes!” cried Persephone, a watery radiance returning to her face. “He will listen to you, because he thinks the world of you!”

  “Does he?” Elinor was a good deal startled, but it was not the time to enquire further into this surprising item of information. “Well, when I find a convenient moment, I will speak to him, and—represent to him what I think is the strength of your mutual affection. He has remarked, himself, on your shared interest in music, which I think does make it more likely that your attachment would endure.”

  “Of course it will!” said Persephone, fast recovering her spirits.

  “Only naturally, you would have to be patient, Persephone. Even if Sir Edmund were to say that eventually you might be married, you would have to wait quite a long time, I am sure, to prove your constancy.”

  This was not quite so pleasing, and Persephone said, “I don’t need to prove it. Nor does Robert. We know!”

  “Then why,” asked Elinor reasonably, “are you so dreadfully upset by the notion of spending a couple of months away from him in the country?” A reproachful glance from Persephone told her that to any young girl, the prospect of going so much as twenty-four hours without a sight of her beloved seemed an age; it had been so with herself, and she had to own that even now she felt very low when she could not see Sir Edmund for some days on end. But she must not go too easily with Persephone. “For I suppose that is what put the idea of an elopement into your mind. I may say, it does Mr. Walter great credit that he would not entertain such a notion—but I shall not tell Sir Edmund about any of that part of it.”