Lady Incognita

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  “But the cascades,” said Harry. “I don’t want to miss them.”

  “No need to fear that. The bell will summon us in time,” replied his lordship and he moved them off down the path toward the pavilion.

  The pictures proved to be all that Harry could desire and he stood before them in silent awe, his features reflecting a variety of emotions. In the meantime, Betsy had been busy looking around. “Let’s go this way,” she urged, pulling on Louisa’s arm. And so they strolled on into the long supper room with its double row of columns in the center and the paintings of rural scenery on the wall.

  “Oh, aren’t these pretty,” cried Betsy. “It looks like I could walk right into that meadow.”

  “It does indeed,” agreed his lordship. “And here, at this end of the hall, the statue of Handel used to sit. They say he is supposed to be in the character of Orpheus singing to his lyre.”

  “That’s silly,” said Harry. “Why can’t he just be himself?”

  “An admirable sentiment,” said his lordship. “But it happens that at the time when Roubiliac executed his statue that was the way things were done. Later we shall see the statue itself. It has been moved into the gardens.”

  “Yes,” agreed Betsy. “I want to tell Winky about it. And about these lovely pictures.”

  “Are we going to eat in here?” asked Harry, causing Louisa a moment of distress.

  “No, Harry. I thought we should have a small pavilion of our own. There are pictures in those, too,” Atherton said to Betsy. “Some by Hayman and some by Hogarth. But if you are not absolutely starving, Harry, I suggest we walk a little. There are other bands at different situations in the gardens. And I should like to walk down to the banks of the Thames. There is something about the moving water that I find very soothing.”

  Neither Harry nor Betsy looked as though they particularly wished to be soothed, but they made no objection as Atherton led Louisa outside again.

  The illumined darkness was quite lovely and Louisa sighed in utter contentment as they wandered lazily from path to path, meeting other couples and groups. The children, too, seemed calmed by the beauty around them. Finally, Atherton stopped where a group of people were admiring a statue in white marble.

  “This is the celebrated statue of Handel,” said he.

  “It was erected in 1738 when the sculptor was still unknown. And it was commissioned by a man named Jonathan Tyres who was decorating the gardens with pictures and statues,” said Betsy.

  “Very good,” said his lordship with a glance at Louisa. “It appears that you have been reading something besides romances.”

  “Oh, no,” said Betsy blithely. “Winky looked it up and told us.” Her freckled nose wrinkled in distaste. “Winky wants to broaden our culture. I don’t see why. Can’t I enjoy the statue just as well without knowing anything about its maker?”

  “Perhaps,” said Atherton gravely. “But perhaps, too, you might enjoy the possession of knowledge for itself.”

  Betsy seemed to be considering this. “Perhaps,” she replied in so doubtful a tone that both Louisa and Atherton were hard put not to laugh.

  “Let us stroll down to the river,” suggested Atherton. “At our return it should be just about time for the cascades.”

  As they moved again along the peaceful paths, Louisa felt immense contentment. At the bank of the river they all stared for many moments at the dark moving water.

  “Now, if there were a hero around,” remarked Betsy with a giggle, “I might slip into the water and be rescued.”

  “Betsy Penhope! Don’t you dare!”

  “Oh, Louisa. Don’t be so silly. You should know I have more sense than that. And besides - the Viscount is not my hero.”

  Louisa felt the red flooding her cheeks. She knew what Betsy’s words meant even if no one else did. Fortunately, however, the illumination was not as strong there by the river and his lordship did not seem to notice. Indeed, all his attention appeared to be focused on Betsy. “I am glad that you believe in me,” said his lordship with that lazy smile. “But I collect that I am really no one’s hero.”

  “That is a shame,” agreed Betsy. “For heroes are meant to have heroines. I mean, it’s only natural. But do not feel bad, perhaps your heroine will come along one of these days.”

  Atherton shook his head in mock despair. “I have lately thought that I might marry. That lump of amativeness, you know. But heroines are rare these days. And when I find one - she may not recognize me as a hero.”

  The first mention that Atherton might marry threw Louisa into a state of near panic. All her good resolutions flew at the first mention of matrimony. If he married, if the Viscount took a bride, her life would be over, her heart declared. She was being ridiculous, Louisa scolded herself. This was not a romance she was living. This was reality. And in reality, as she well knew, men like Viscount Atherton did not marry the portionless daughters of barons. She simply must pull herself together. This news should be no surprise to her; she had expected it all along.

  The ringing of a bell in the distance moved Harry to cry out, “The cascades! We’re going to miss the cascades.”

  “No, Harry. We’re not. Come.” And Atherton moved them all off.

  By the time they had returned to the orchestra and the children had watched entranced while the dark curtain went up, revealing the bridge, the water-mill, and the cascade, Louisa had herself well enough in hand to watch the illumined scene. Coaches, wagons, soldiers, and other figures crossed the bridge and the sound of roaring water could be heard.

  Some ten minutes later when the last figure had crossed and the curtain descended again, Harry turned to his lordship with a great smile. “That was bang-up, sir. A real treat.”

  “I am glad you enjoyed it, Harry. And now, if I’m not mistaken, there will be almost two hours before the fireworks. I believe that we can stroll down to the Dark Walks, thus satisfying Betsy’s curiosity. Is that all right with you, Louisa?”

  “Of course.” Louisa was aware of the stiffness in her voice, but she could not help it. The ease with which she had talked to him was gone. The joy she had taken in his company was gone. It was with effort that she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other as she moved along at Atherton’s side.

  The Dark Walks held no interest for her;

  in fact, she would prefer to just go home and hide in the old oak bed that had witnessed so many of her moments of sadness.

  The sound of violins came over the night air and then the soft melodious voice of a woman. “Let us stop and listen to the singer,” said Atherton. “I think you will like her singing. And she’s a beauty, too.”

  Louisa, hearing the warmth in his voice, felt her heart flutter. “Of course,” she repeated, and let him lead her in that direction.

  Near a little pavilion a beautiful young girl was singing an old ballad. As the lovely notes went lilting through the warm night air, Louisa felt tears rising to her eyes. The melody was sweet and plaintive, the words a lament for a lost love. Louisa, swallowing over the lump in her throat, cast a quick look at Atherton. The languid, lazy bored look was gone from his face and his eyes were shining with some deeply suppressed emotion.

  Louisa caught her breath and looked away. Could Atherton be enamored of the lovely young singer? Such things were not unthought of. Many a lord had dallied with the ladies of the stage. From the look on his face, Atherton was certainly deeply touched by something, and it was quite probably the young singer.

  Well, said the practical side of Louisa, if it were this singer who had engaged Atherton’s affections, he at least would not marry soon. For a ballad singer, no matter how lovely, was not an eligible connection for the Viscount. And somehow, no matter how deep his feelings, Louisa could not see Atherton forgetting his position so much as to marry a theatrical bit of muslin.

  The song over, Betsy turned to Atherton. “Can we see the Dark Walks now, sir?”

  Atherton nodded. “Yes, Betsy. We will satisfy yo
ur curiosity.”

  “But I do not want to miss the fire-works,” insisted Harry, who obviously thought that all this talk was silly.

  “You will not miss the fireworks, Harry,” said his lordship in a tone that brooked no resistance. “But first we are going to the Dark Walks.”

  Louisa, her arm still through Atherton’s, gave herself up to speculation about the Viscount’s colorful past. Obviously he was no stranger in the muslin line; with his charm and his fortune he could have any woman he pleased. For a moment Louisa found herself wishing that she had been longer in the ton. Certainly the fashionable ladies knew all about the Viscount’s fancies. Such things were considered common gossip and few men made any effort to hide their adventures with barques of frailty from the eyes of the world.

  The sound of squeals echoed and re-echoed, bringing her back to the present. The path they were treading was still well-illumined, but to their right another path led off into semidarkness. More squeals and peals of laughter, masculine and feminine, could he heard.

  Atherton turned to Betsy. “There you have the celebrated Dark Walks. If your curiosity is not yet adequately satisfied, we may saunter down one for a bit.”

  Betsy, wrinkling her freckled nose, seemed to be considering. Then she shook her head. “No, I don’t believe I want to venture there. Not but what you would be able to serve admirably as a hero. But somehow I doubt that heroines would make such a dreadful uproar. It’s very unladylike.”

  This comment from the often hoydenish Betsy caused Louisa to stifle a chuckle. She felt the pressure of Atherton’s arm against hers. “You’re quite right, Betsy,” said that gentleman with suitable gravity. “I’ve no doubt that you will find quite a proper hero - when the time comes.”

  Betsy nodded soberly. “Yes, I am sure of it. For now that I’ve seen you ...” She cast another look at Louisa. “No one can persuade me that such do not exist.”

  Louisa saw Atherton’s dark eyes sparkle with suppressed amusement, but his voice kept its sober tone as he replied. “I collect that you are the one with the scientific mind.”

  “Me!” squealed Betsy in a tone that revealed that in her head scientific was equated with Aunt Julia.

  “I mean, scientific in the true sense of the word,” explained his lordship. “In that you believe only in empirical

  evidence - evidence that you can see with your own eyes.”

  “That is quite true,” replied Betsy thoughtfully. “I have always had sharp eyes.”

  “So have I,” interrupted Harry in such a plaintive tone that Louisa was forced to cough to cover another chuckle. Harry obviously did not like being left out of the conversation.

  “Indeed, you do,” agreed his lordship. “And now I propose that we take those sharp eyes back to the area where the fireworks will be shown. I believe we will just have time for some supper first. Is that quite agreeable with you, Harry?”

  “Oh yes, sir. Quite,” replied Harry in a tone very like Atherton’s own. Louisa, recalling the way Harry had aped the exquisite, breathed a silent thank you. If Harry must ape someone, then let it at least be a man of taste like the Viscount.

  And so they turned and retraced their steps back toward the supper pavilions. “Do you prefer the large pavilion or would you like a little bower of our own?” asked Atherton.

  “Oh, a little one of our own, if you please, sir,” cried Betsy. “They look so sweet, sitting there all covered with green leaves. And there may be some interesting pictures in them, too.”

  Harry snorted. “I don’t care about any more pictures. I want some food.”

  Louisa was about to reprimand him when the pressure of Atherton’s fingers on her arm forestalled her. “Quite so, Harry. Still a pleasant atmosphere and congenial company make a simple repast more enjoyable than the richest cuisine with poor company. That is something a gentleman learns early.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Harry. “I’ll remember.”

  There were a few moments of silence. Then Harry spoke again. “Is it very difficult to become a gentleman, sir?”

  Atherton appeared to ponder this question for a few minutes. “Well, Harry, it is and it is not. Some gentlemen are fortunate enough to be raised by their fathers and so they learn by following their example - whether good or bad. Others, whose fathers are gone, must sometimes learn by trial and error.”

  “What about,” said Harry in a serious tone, “what about if a boy without his father found another gentleman and followed his example?”

  Louisa’s heart, thudding suddenly, seemed about to burst from her breast.

  Atherton turned to Harry. “That would seem a wise move, if the gentleman in question were well chosen. But a boy in such a situation must be careful. Many gentlemen so-called are not true gentle-men. They strut and preen and stare, but they lack inner quality. A true gentle-man, though he may dress like a swell and quiz like a Corinthian, has more meaning to his life than the emptiness of the fashionable world. He has a sense of responsibility.”

  Harry sighed. “It does sound rather difficult, sir.”

  “Not if you truly want to learn,” replied Atherton seriously.

  There was another moment’s silence; then Louisa saw Harry draw himself erect into a stance very like Atherton’s own. “Then sir,” said he with a dignity that brought tears to Louisa’s eyes, “I believe I shall follow your example. And if I should go wrong, sir, for I haven’t had my Papa for a long time, would you set me straight?”

  When Atherton replied, his voice was deeper and fraught with emotion. “Harry, I am deeply honored at such a compliment. Such a duty is a heavy responsibility, but I shall be proud to fulfill it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Harry, a little boy grin replacing his sober expression. “With you to teach me I shall become a bang-up gentleman!”

  Louisa, caught between tears and laughter, was deeply moved by his plea. She knew that she had done as much as she could for him, but she could not give him the example of a gentleman.

  Part of her, too, was filled with joy. If Atherton were to be Harry’s mentor, then he must continue to come around. And if he were around, then she, Louisa, would get to see him.

  They had arrived at a supper box and Atherton helped Louisa into a chair and settled the others. Then he ordered lemonade for the children and punch for the two of them. And when he mentioned shaved ham and chicken followed by custard, Harry’s eyes took light.

  As Louisa sipped her punch and nibbled at the delicacies, her eyes moved often to the tall dark man beside her. How well he carried himself, she thought with intense pleasure. How handsome he was.

  The practical part of her reminded her of her awareness that there could be no hero in her life, but she refused to listen. In this world, she reminded herself, she had decided to take what joy she could.

  The supper finished, Atherton glanced at his timepiece and then smiled at Harry. “There, we have finished in admirable time. We shall all have full stomachs and should be able to enjoy the fireworks.”

  Harry nodded, “Yes, sir. I have never seen any fireworks, sir, and that is why I am so frightfully eager.”

  “I quite understand, my boy.”

  Atherton shepherded them toward the area where the fireworks would be displayed and they joined a growing crowd of people. They had not been there long when the fireworks display began.

  Louisa, her arm still tucked through Atherton’s, stood watching the rapt faces of the children as the rockets exploded and the showering sparks came cascading down. The beautiful colors shone against the dark sky, making another magic world. Louisa heaved a great sigh. Never in her life, she thought, had she been so happy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Louisa, in the days that followed their excursion to Vauxhall, found herself often feeling intense joy. Thanks to Aunt Julia, who never tired of discussing phrenology with Lord Harvey, she was able to bear the regular visits of the pomposity with more aplomb. She discovered that she could be smiling brightly and nodding
in rhythm with the pomposity’s remarks while part of her mind was engaged in plotting the further adventures of her characters.

  And as the days passed, Louisa began to think that perhaps Atherton had been mistaken in his man. About the exquisite he had undoubtedly been correct. For Lord Reardon, after several visits which he had spent mumbling, shooting his cuffs, and staring at her through his quizzing glass, had never returned - to Louisa’s inexpressible relief.

  Several ladies, whose main occupation in life appeared to be carrying bad news, shortly took it upon themselves to call and inform her with the sad countenances and sparkling eyes of scandal-mongers that the little man had become a regular caller upon one of the heiresses newly come out and was expected to speak for her very soon.

  Louisa, controlling her laughter with difficulty, had solemnly assured the ladies of her pleasure in the heiress’s good fortune. Of course, she was well aware that neither of them believed a word she said. Their important news disgorged and her reply recorded for transmission to the waiting ears of their clientele, the ladies suddenly remembered another engagement and hurried off, leaving behind a Louisa convulsed with laughter.

  Yes, Atherton had been right about the exquisite, but Louisa could not be sure about Lord Harvey. Certainly, aside from the merest forms of courtesy, she had done nothing to encourage the man. And many times Aunt Julia engaged his full attention. The thought did cross Louisa’s mind that perhaps Aunt Julia was the object of Lord Harvey’s partiality. But then she laughed at herself. She was beginning to think matrimonial thoughts about everyone.

  Lady Constance appeared quite often, and Atherton too was in and out regularly. He was, as he said with that quizzical lift of his eyebrow, seeing to young Harry’s education as a gentleman.

  One night in early June, Louisa again descended the staircase in the gown of cream silk. With Aunt Caroline and Naomi’s help she had slightly altered it and hoped it would now serve for an evening at Drury Lane.