‘Well, I dare because this is my house and you are just a guest in it.’
The Dowager rose from her seat in offended majesty. ‘I will not stay where I am not welcome, Zanthe. I may say that your conduct has not improved since you removed from Baguely Hall. It is no more than I expected.’
‘Mama, pray do not leave like this. Zanthe will apologise. Will you not, Zanthe?’
Aware that her intervention had distressed her sister-in-law and achieved nothing, Zanthe swallowed her pride. ‘I beg your pardon, Ma’am. I should not have spoken so to you. Naturally, you must stay here with us while you are in Bath.’
The Dowager, possibly reflecting on the cost of the hotels in Bath, sniffed disagreeably but sat down again. ‘Very well. But remember, Zanthe, “Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old, and fear thy God.”’
‘I daresay,’ said Zanthe, gloomily.
A kind of peace having been declared, the three ladies retired to their respective bedchambers to change before dinner.
Zanthe, superbly attired in gold satin and spangled voile, walked into Margery’s room, just before they were to assemble in the drawing-room, to find her sister-in-law being laced into a hideous gown of yellowish-brown wool, with a high collar and long tight sleeves.
‘Ah ha! I knew it!’
Margery started. ‘What—whatever do you mean?’
‘Why are you wearing that dreadful, old gown instead of one of your pretty new ones?’
‘Oh—Mama—’
‘Don’t bleat “Mama” at me,’ Zanthe told her sternly. ‘Quite apart from the fact that the colour makes you look as though you were upon your deathbed, that wool will be horridly hot and itchy on this warm evening. Take it off at once.’
‘What shall I wear?’ asked Margery meekly.
‘Why, the crimson sarsenet of course. And your new velvet turban, and the Norwich scarf I gave you and—’
Margery began to laugh. ‘No more! I understand.’ She lifted her eyebrows and said archly, ‘All flags flying?’
‘All flags flying,’ confirmed Zanthe. ‘Promise me you will throw that gown away, for I doubt if any of the maidservants will want it.’
‘I could give it to Martha Critchlow,’ said Margery dubiously.
‘You could, but probably even she would not wear it. Why don’t we give the poor woman a nice gown instead?’
‘You are very right. We will cut this one up and use it for dusters.’
‘That’s the spirit. Now finish dressing and come downstairs.’
‘Will you wait for me?’
‘Of course, goose. Besides I want to see Mama-in-Law’s face when she sets eyes on you in that gown.’
Margery chuckled. ‘She may go off in an apoplexy.’
‘We can only hope! Now hurry.’
Some fifteen minutes later, they entered the drawing-room to find the Dowager, Susanna, and Parry already assembled. The atmosphere could hardly have been called cosy. Lady Brookenby, seated in a winged armchair by the fire, was glaring at Susanna who, quite unconcerned, sat with a sheet of music upon her lap, humming quietly under her breath. Parry, stretched upon a sofa on the other side of the fire, was perusing a volume of the Gentleman's Magazine. The old lady glanced up as the door opened to admit Zanthe and Margery. Her eyes were instantly riveted upon her daughter, and her hands tightened upon the arms of her chair until the knuckles were white.
‘What is that you have on?’
‘It is one of the new gowns Zanthe purchased for me when we arrived in Bath,’ answered Margery with commendable coolness.
‘I thought I told you to wear the brown kerseymere. Go and change into it at once!’
Her daughter blenched but, catching Zanthe’s encouraging eye, she lifted her chin and said, ‘I am afraid that is not possible, Mama. We cut it up to use for dusters.’
‘Kerseymere for dusters! Are you mad, girl?’
‘It was not genuine kerseymere,’ remarked Zanthe, bestowing a sweet smile upon the Dowager. ‘Merely fustian.’
The old lady turned her venomous gaze upon her. ‘I will thank you to keep quiet, Zanthe. How you dare face me rigged out like some hussy from the theatre, I do not know. “As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion.”’
Not to be outdone, Zanthe answered swiftly, ‘And “It is better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and an angry woman.”’
For one glorious moment, it seemed to Zanthe that her mother-in-law really would go off in an apoplexy. Her cheeks were purple, and her little eyes fairly scorched her impudent daughter-in-law. Zanthe pretended not to notice and merely said, ‘Have you met our pretty little visitor, Ma’am? Parry, did you present Susanna to Lady Brookenby?’
Parry looked up from his journal and yawned. ‘What was that, Zan? Oh, yes, I made the introductions just as you would have wished.’
The Dowager sank back into her chair, her mouth compressed. But, as she really could not find anything disagreeable to say about Miss Fallowfield, she swallowed her ire. ‘I take it all this finery is not intended to be worn for an evening at home,’ she said, indicating Zanthe’s satin and jewels. ‘It is too much to expect that you would spend the evening with me when I am newly arrived, I suppose.’
‘I had hoped, Ma’am, that you would be persuaded to accompany us to the Gala at Sydney Gardens tonight, for the King’s birthday, you know. It is a lovely, warm evening, and there will be music and fireworks.’
‘Pray, do come, Mama. Signora Villella is to sing,’ urged Margery. ‘You should hear her while she is in Bath, though, to be sure, you will do so at the concert.’ As her mother made no reply, nor even looked at her, she continued rather desperately, ‘You remember I wrote and told you of the concert, do you not, Mama?’
‘Aye, that is how you met the impudent jackanapes who dared—will he be at this gala tonight?’
‘No, Mr Cholmondeley has had to go back to Lancashire for a few days. He will, naturally, return soon, for his guiding hand is needed upon our little company,’ interposed Zanthe, seeing that Margery was unable to answer. ‘We miss him sadly.’
The Dowager grunted. ‘I am an old woman, and I am tired to death, but I suppose I must go if you insist upon it.’
‘If you do not care to go, Mama, I shall be happy to stay at—’ Margery stopped abruptly as Zanthe trod on her foot.
‘Nonsense,’ she said breezily. ‘Of course, you will come, Mama. Why else come to Bath if not to enjoy all its frivolous pursuits?’
And, since Lady Brookenby really did wish to go and had protested only as a matter of form, it was agreed that she should.
Fifteen
The Gala began at five-o-clock, but it was a little after six when the Brookenby party arrived at the Sydney Gardens Hotel. They had eaten only a light dinner for refreshments would be served in the Banqueting Room or, if the weather proved favourable, in the many booths which bordered the gardens.
The Dowager had changed from her bombazine into an equally funereal gown of heavy black silk trimmed with a great deal of silver lace. She wore a turban of black velvet twisted with silver brocade and a depressing mourning brooch containing the hair of her husband and all her deceased progeny. She was, however, in unusually good spirits as the lights, music, and lighthearted crowds worked their magic upon her. She was pleased with the introductions Zanthe made and gratified by the attentions she received.
‘What is it, dearest?’ asked Zanthe, seeing how wistfully Margery scanned the crowds.
‘Oh, nothing. That is—I was just wondering if the Cholmondeleys would be here.’
Zanthe joined her in searching for the familiar faces but stiffened when she encountered in their stead Lord Launceston sauntering about the gardens with Signora Villella upon his arm. But, as she watched them, she became comfortable at once. They conversed together easily as old friends, but she could perceive nothing amorous in Launceston’s demeanor. It was true that he smi
led charmingly at her whenever she spoke to him, but it was not the smile he kept for Zanthe. As though he felt her eyes upon him, he turned his head and stared at her. She held the level gaze with her own and, for a moment, the lights, noise, and scents of the gardens disappeared and it was as though she and Launceston were alone, isolated upon some peak far above the multitude. Then the orchestra started up, and the spell was broken. He turned back to his companion, and Zanthe found that her mother-in-law was regarding her with deep suspicion.
‘Who is that man?’
‘What? What man? Whom do you mean, Ma’am?’
‘You know very well whom I mean, Madam.’ She pointed with her fan. ‘The tall man who has that bold-faced creature hanging upon his arm.’
Zanthe glanced uneasily at Susanna, but she was, as always, serene and composed. The insult to her mother might not have reached her ears. It was Margery who rushed into speech.
‘Oh, that is Signora Villella. Is she not lovely? Such a glorious voice!’
‘And the gentleman?’
She swallowed. ‘Lord Launceston, Mama.’
‘Launceston!’ Her tone left Zanthe in no doubt that she knew all about that ill-fated romance eight years earlier. ‘Launceston,’ she repeated more thoughtfully. ‘How long has he been in Bath?’
‘I really could not—I do not—not long, I believe,’ stammered Margery, her cheeks flaming with colour as they always did when she was distressed.
‘He arrived a few days before we did.’ Zanthe glanced at her sister-in-law and gave her a tight little smile. ‘Do not be distressed, dearest. Launceston is over one-and-twenty, and he may come to Bath if he so desires.’
‘So that is why you wished to leave Baguely. You had arranged to meet that man! How long have you been in communication with him? Was this going on when my son was alive?’ As Zanthe made no reply, she reached out a claw-like hand to grip Zanthe’s bare wrist. ‘Answer me!’
‘Pray, stop calling him “that man,” Ma’am.’ She pulled her arm away and rubbed her bruised wrist with her other hand. ‘I had not had the slightest contact with him before we arrived in Bath, and I assure you I had no notion he was staying here. Indeed, from what I knew of him, this is the last place I should have expected to meet him.’
‘Liar!’
People were beginning to stare. Zanthe felt her eyes fill with tears as the old lady’s familiar, deadening, influence stole over her. She had thought she could escape it, but the spirit that had buoyed her until now had dissipated. She was not as strong as she had supposed.
‘You are looking very beautiful tonight.’ It was his voice, low, amused, faintly mocking. She half-turned to find him standing a little behind and to the side of her. The courage she had thought lost returned to her. She turned and held out her hand, warmly welcoming, to lead him forward.
‘Jarvis, I do not think you have met my mother-in-law, Lady Brookenby.’
‘I have not had that honour,’ he said, bowing. ‘Allow me to welcome you to Bath, Ma’am.’
The old lady’s mouth worked for a few moments as she bit back the words that rose to her lips. She presently recovered herself enough to nod and say, ‘Obliged to you.’
‘Not at all. But you cannot be comfortable standing on this windy path, Ma’am. Will you not permit me to escort you to one of the booths where you may be seated and take some refreshment?’
Without awaiting an answer, he took one of her clawed hands and placed it upon his arm. With a charming air of gallantry, he steered her towards a booth, seated her, arranged a cushion at her back, called a waiter to bring wine and ratafia biscuits, and sat beside her, talking agreeably.
Zanthe and Margery could only stare in disbelief. ‘Why, he has her eating out of his hand,’ said Zanthe in an awed voice. ‘Look, she tapped him with her fan. She’s flirting with him!’
‘Pinch me, Zanthe, I must be dreaming,’ answered her sister-in-law in a bemused voice. ‘Is she really laughing?’
‘If you are dreaming, we are having the same dream. How in the world did he do it?’
Margery considered. ‘I suppose it is a very long time since a handsome man paid any attention to her. In fact, I doubt if any handsome man has ever paid any attention to her. My father was not exactly—’
‘No, indeed, I have seen his portrait.’
Launceston rose from his seat and made his way to the path where the two ladies still lingered. Susanna had accepted Mr Templeton’s arm and was strolling with him along the illuminated pathways.
‘Your Mama would like you to partake of refreshments with her, Miss Brookenby.’ He bowed, ‘May I take you to her?’
She shook her head and said a little gruffly, ‘No, my Lord, you must want to talk to Zanthe. I will go and keep Mama occupied.’
‘Thank you.’ He stood back and watched her as she walked away. ‘I like that woman,’ he said. ‘She has quality.’ He turned back to Zanthe. ‘Now, my fair one, what did that old harridan say to bring you to tears?’
‘Old harridan? I thought you were getting along with her famously.’
He grinned. ‘Captivating lonely old ladies is not difficult, my sweet. You may say it is my stock in trade, in fact.’
‘And lonely young ladies, as well?’
‘Oh, that is far more dangerous. For, while I am busy beguiling her, she may slip under my guard and steal my heart.’
‘Really?’
‘It has been known to happen—once.’ He stood looking down into the lovely face raised to his. ‘You still have not told me what she said to you. You seemed so distressed. I do not like to see that look.’
She lowered her eyes and twisted her fan between her hands. ‘She accused me of coming to Bath to meet you—as though we had some sordid assignation—and she asked how long I had been in touch with you—and—whether it was before Brookenby died.’ She swallowed and dashed a hand across her eyes. ‘I felt sullied, Jarvis.’
‘I can imagine. But it is not like you to take this so seriously. What does it matter what she says?’
‘Oh, you are a man! You cannot understand what it is to live with someone who constantly undermines your confidence, chips away at your self-respect, teases the life out of you over every little thing until you are ready to scream.’
‘But she has no control over you, surely? You are not dependent upon her? How are you situated?’
‘Financially, you mean?’
‘Do not think me impertinent. I cannot advise you if I do not know the full circumstances.’ He took her hand and led her to a nearby bench. ‘Tell me.’
Zanthe searched in her reticule for her handkerchief, blew her nose, sniffed, and prepared to be businesslike. ‘Well, I have my jointure, which comes from the funds and brings me an income of three thousand a year.’
He looked very much taken aback. ‘Three thousand! Good God!’
‘Yes, about that, I believe. I had thought that Margery and I could set up home together. We could live very comfortably upon my income. That is partly why I suggested coming to Bath—to see if it would answer; but then Mr Cholmondeley came upon the scene, and I could soon see that scheme would come to nothing. I can conceive of no alternative but to return to Baguely with Mama-in-Law once Margery is married.’
He smiled grimly. ‘What nonsense is this? Do you seriously believe that, if your sister-in-law marries, you will remain unwed for any longer than you choose to be so?’
She bit her lip. ‘I shall not marry again. I swore if I did, then this time it should be for love. I see no possibility of being able to do so.’
A groan burst from him then. ‘Zanthe—Zanthe—forget me! You will be sought in marriage by many decent, honourable men. One of them will win your heart eventually.’
That made her laugh, a little sadly. ‘But I don’t want a decent, honourable man. I want you.’
He grinned. ‘Thank you.’ His gaze wandered to where the Dowager sat. He watched her dip a ratafia biscuit into her wine and suck out the sweetened liquid w
ith a slurp. He shuddered.
‘No, you cannot go back to Lincolnshire. What about your parents?’
She shook her head. ‘They are fixed in Constantinople. They have a very pretty villa on the Bosphorus, but I do not think it would suit me. I have no interest in their crumbling antiquities.’ She brightened, ‘Perhaps I could set up home with Parry in London? What would you say to that?’
‘Good God, when I think of the kind of trouble the two of you would get into, preyed upon by every ding-boy and beau-trap in Town—’
She opened her eyes very wide and said innocently, ‘Then what do you propose I should do? You say I cannot return to Lincolnshire, I will not go to Constantinople, I may not live with Parry in London, and I must leave Bath when Margery marries. It is a problem, isn’t it?’ She stood up and laid her hand upon his arm. ‘Never mind. Perhaps you are right, and some handsome, honourable and wealthy suitor will appear in Bath to sweep me off my feet. That is what you hope for—isn’t it, Jarvis?’
‘Yes,’ he answered through his teeth. ‘Yes, that is what I hope for.’
Sixteen
In the following two weeks, there were several developments that gave Zanthe considerable disquiet. Firstly, while Viscount Launceston scowled direfully whenever he caught sight of Zanthe driving, dancing, or flirting with Sir Marmaduke, he made no effort to intervene in this promising relationship. Secondly, Mr Cholmondeley did not return to Bath when he was expected to do so. Thirdly, rehearsals for the concert were riven by discord, mostly due to the Misses Weatherspoon, who resented being put in the shade by a young female no one had ever heard of who was much better-looking and by far more talented than they. Moreover, they were by no means pleased by the behavior of young Mr Templeton, who had, as anticipated, fallen wildly in love with Susanna at first sight.
Of these, it was Mr Cholmondeley’s strange behavior that concerned Zanthe the most. She had already waited eight years for Launceston, a few more weeks made no difference to her eventual happiness one way or another; and she had every confidence in Susanna’s ability to conduct her own affairs. But, having watched her sister-in-law blossom into, if not a beauty, a warm and loving woman, she was dismayed to see, without the Reverend’s counteracting influence, the old Margery reappear: shy, taciturn, and desolate.
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