Margery looked quite bewildered. ‘Of course not, if you say so.’
The door opened, and the butler entered with a tray. Zanthe accepted a glass of Madeira and sipped it gratefully. ‘Well, I went for a drive in the country with Sir Marmaduke—’
‘Yes, Parry told me that. And there was an accident?’
‘If you want to call it that. I should rather say Sir Marmaduke contrived to overturn his phaeton, so very convenient, for it gave him an excuse to send off his groom—then he offered for me—’
‘Did he so? I was hoping he would.’
Zanthe sighed. ‘I know you were. Margery, dearest, you are probably the worst judge of character I have ever met. Let a man but be handsome and agreeable, and you think him everything noble and good. Let me tell you that, when I refused him—’
‘You refused him?’
‘I did, with enthusiasm. And then he pointed out that we were all alone and it was getting dark, and when this did not frighten me as it should, he threatened to—to—compel me to—oh, you understand me.’
Margery was pale and trembling. ‘Oh, my love, then what?’
‘I practically dared him to—which was a mistake. He kissed me and mauled me about a good deal—and then, just when I was in despair, a carriage came along, and Mr Huntington, a very chivalrous young man, took me up in his curricle and brought me home.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ exclaimed Margery, clasping her hands together. ‘I have never been so deceived in anyone.’
‘Well, I was not deceived for a moment because Launceston warned be about him ages ago. He told me he was an ugly customer, and the Signora said it, too.’
‘Then why did you encourage him to dangle after you? For you did, Zanthe. You cannot deny it.’
Zanthe looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Oh, I had my reasons.’
‘What will you do now? He should be brought to book.’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but it cannot be. What do you think Parry would do if he found out about all this?’
‘I don’t—’
‘I will tell you. He would call him out, make a great scandal, and very probably get himself killed. Do you doubt that Carlyle is a crack shot; I don’t.’
Margery ventured to say, ‘Shall you tell Lord Launceston?’
For the first time that day, hot tears filled Zanthe’s eyes. ‘You do not know how much I should like to. Oh, he would be so very angry with me for not heeding his advice, but I know he would kill Sir Marmaduke and then where should I be?’ She laughed, but the laughter trailed off into a sob. ‘I thought to make him worried and jealous so that he would forget his stupid scruples—but this goes so far beyond anything I had imagined. No—no—I cannot.’
‘Do you think—that Sir Marmaduke—will try again?’
Zanthe turned a shade paler. ‘I had not thought of that! Oh, Margery, what have I got myself into?’
‘We must take the greatest care. John shall accompany you whenever you go out alone, even if you take a chair.’
‘It will be a great bore, but I expect you are right. But after all, I am hardly ever alone. I am always with you or Susanna or Parry. He would hardly dare to abduct me in broad daylight in front of witnesses.’
‘No. No, you are quite right,’ agreed Margery unconvincingly.
But it appeared that Zanthe was right, for there was no sign of Sir Marmaduke in Bath in the next few days. Zanthe, duly escorted by her young giant of a footman, scanned the streets for him in vain and concluded that he had taken himself off lest she press charges against him. Gradually, she forgot the unpleasant experience and devoted herself once more to her various schemes. Foremost of these was to arrange for the marriage of her sister-in-law to the hapless Mr Cholmondeley.
This gentleman had returned to Bath but avoided the society of the Brookenby ladies. He did not call at the house in the Royal Crescent, nor did he approach them in the Pump Room now that the Dowager always accompanied them thither. Zanthe would have been disheartened had she not seen, while at a final rehearsal for the concert, a look of flat despair in his myopic eyes as they followed Margery around the room.
‘I am so glad you have returned to us, Mr Cholmondeley,’ she said, having finally cornered him in a window embrasure looking out over the Pump Room. ‘We missed your hand upon the reins, I assure you.’
‘I regret that I was compelled to desert you.’
‘What compelled you, Sir?’
He seemed taken aback. ‘I had—business—to attend to.’
‘Oh? We all missed you very much.’
‘All?’
‘All,’ repeated Zanthe firmly. ‘Come sit with me. We must talk comfortably together.’
‘I—very well, Ma’am. If you wish it.’
‘I do.’ She patted the window-seat beside her and fixed her eyes upon Susanna, who was standing upon a dais at the far end of the room, preparing to sing. For once, as the lovely notes sounded, Zanthe paid no attention. Instead, she said, ‘Forgive my plain speaking, Mr Cholmondeley. But my sister has no friends other than myself in Bath, and I feel responsible for her. I fear it is incumbent upon me to ask just what are your intentions towards her?’
The reverend gentleman did not appear to see anything ridiculous in the idea that a blooming young girl of five-and-twenty should call him to account regarding a lady who had dwelt upon the earth for more than forty summers.
‘My—my intentions?’
‘Yes. In the weeks before you went away, nothing could have been more obvious than your admiration for her. Indeed, you monopolised her society—yes, Sir, I said “monopolised.” And then, you left quite suddenly and, since you have been back, you have hardly approached her. I should hate to think, Sir, that you have been trifling with her affections.’
‘But—but—but—’
‘And I have to inform you,’ continued Zanthe, ruthlessly, ‘that my mother-in-law, the Dowager Lady Brookenby, has the intention to carry poor Margery back to Baguely Hall post haste, where she will be persecuted and tormented until the end of her days, which will not be long in coming, for she will very likely go into a decline. You offered her hope, Sir, and now you have dashed it from her lips.’
‘I—I—what can I do? It was an impertinence in me to raise my eyes to Miss Brookenby. I have nothing to offer her.’
‘You have a loving heart.’
He smiled at that. ‘You are very young, Lady Brookenby. A loving heart is not enough in this world.’
‘It is enough for Margery.’ She laid her hand upon his, where it rested on his knee and pressed it. ‘Don’t be a coward. Ask her. I promise you she will not think you impertinent.’ She bethought herself of something else she had meant to say. ‘And do not pay any attention to that nonsense about her being an heiress. It is no such thing, so you may be poor but happy together. It will be delightful.’
‘But I could not allow her to be cut off from her family because of me,’ he protested in alarm.
‘I assure you it is the best possible thing that could happen to her. When you know the Dowager better, you will understand. You must rescue her, Sir, for if ever there were a damsel in distress, Margery is she.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Yes, I am sure.’ She gave him a little push. ‘Go and speak to her now. No shilly-shallying, Sir. Do not let “I dare not wait upon I would, like the poor cat i' th' adage.” There, that is the only bit of Shakespeare I have ever remembered, and it fits excellent well.’
She watched as the gentleman hesitantly approached the lady. He touched her arm, and she turned. He spoke. Minutes passed. A look of such radiant happiness filled Margery’s face that she seemed quite a different creature. They clasped hands, and had not all eyes been upon Susanna as she sang, their mutual joy must have been apparent to the entire company.
Zanthe let out a long breath of satisfaction. ‘Well, that is Margery taken care of. What next do I have to do?’ At that moment, Susanna ceased to sing, and rapturous applause
, led by Mr Templeton, greeted her. She smiled at her admirer and sank into a deep curtsy.
‘Oh, yes. Susanna.’
Nineteen
The day of the concert dawned fine and sunny. ‘Thank Goodness!’ exclaimed Zanthe, pulling aside the curtains in the breakfast-parlour to gaze upon the view across the open fields and away towards the downs. ‘If it had been raining, you may count upon it that half our audience would have decided to stay at home in their own warm, dry drawing-room.’
‘Very true, dearest.’ Margery poured out coffee serenely and smiled with an air of abstraction.
‘And, let us be honest, they would not have missed much. Apart from Susanna and the Signora, of course. I promise you I don’t know where to look when Mrs Preston is reciting that interminable Cowper poem. She has such a problem with her adenoids, poor woman, and then the corners of her mouth are all wet. Ugh!’
‘You are unkind, Zanthe! She performs with a great deal of feeling. And, you know, the Admiral was shipwrecked once, and that is why the poem means so much to her.’
‘Fiddle! He was stranded for two days on an island off the coast of Scotland surrounded by his entire crew. He is hardly a Robinson Crusoe.’
Margery sighed. ‘It is the Quarrel Scene that I find most tedious. I am sure it is very fine if one saw it performed by real actors like Mr Kemble or Mr Kean, but—’
‘Yes, indeed. And it would help greatly if they could remember the lines and did not have to be prompted at every speech.’ She laughed, ‘Young Templeton was so angry yesterday, for Miss Cholmondeley had the book and she had nodded off just when he wanted a line. I’m sure I do not blame her.’
‘The two Misses Weatherspoon play their duet most creditably,’ offered Margery in a palliative tone. ‘And Sir Humphrey’s card tricks are very amusing.’
‘Oh, I abominate card tricks! And I distinctly saw him pull a card out of his sleeve at rehearsal the other day.’
‘Well, my love, recollect that the audience will not be so close as to see very much.’
‘True. And, in the end, all that matters is that Susanna should be a success. It means so much to her. If only she can convince the Signora that she really wants and deserves a career. Indeed, you must admit it would be a terrible waste if that glorious voice was not to be heard, as it should be, in all the great opera houses of the world.’
‘Well, she could always perform privately, as she will tonight.’
Zanthe shook her head. ‘Oh, if I had such a talent as hers—I understand her completely. And, may I remind you, who are to be a vicar’s wife, that the Bible is very scathing, indeed, regarding those who do not use their talents to the fullest.’
‘Zanthe! Your liveliness takes you too far!’
‘I do not see that,’ responded Zanthe, stoutly. ‘Do you not believe Susanna’s voice is God-given?’
‘Well—yes—but—’
‘Then I imagine He intends her to use it.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘I shall put the matter to your betrothed.’
‘No! He would be so very shocked.’
‘Not he! Why, I believe I understand him better than you do.’
Margery merely smiled and shook her head.
Neither lady had noticed the door open. But, just then, Zanthe turned to see the Dowager standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the ivory handle of her walking stick. At the look in her eyes, Zanthe’s heart sank.
‘Margery.’
‘Oh—Mama! What a start you gave me.’ Margery tried to laugh but pressed her hand to her heart as though to quiet its beating.
The old lady stalked into the room without recourse to her cane. ‘Have the goodness to tell me to whom Zanthe referred when she talked of your betrothed?’
‘I—I—Mr—Cholmondeley, Mama.’
‘Is it possible that you have had the temerity to accept this man without so much as referring the matter to the parent to whom you owe your duty and respect? That you have, with that spirit of independence that is so prevalent and disgusting in these modern times, decided for yourself to marry a man who is unknown to your family, unconnected with any of our acquaintance, of whose background you know nothing? Are you so lost to all sense of what is due to the family? Have you no gratitude for the home that has been provided for you all your life, for the care I lavished upon you when you were a sickly child? That a daughter of mine should be so lost to all propriety!’
Margery was white with two spots of colour burning upon her cheeks. Blindly, she held up a placatory hand, ‘Mama—please, I beg of you, no more.’
Zanthe ran to her sister-in-law and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Really, Ma’am, what impropriety is there in this? To my certain knowledge, Margery has never once been alone with Mr Cholmondeley. And, even if she had, he is the soul of honour and would never overstep the bounds. And we do know something of his background, for the Cholmondeleys came to us with a letter of introduction from Doctor Thatcher, whose friend he has been for twenty years.’
Lady Brookenby did not even look at her as she said, ‘Be quiet, girl. I shall deal with you later. Now leave us.’
‘No, I shall stay with Margery.’
Margery smiled waveringly and reached up to touch the hand that rested upon her shoulder. ‘No, you go, Zanthe. I shall be quite all right, I promise you.’
‘But dearest—’ She could see that her insistence was merely causing her sister-in-law more distress, and so, with the utmost reluctance, she left the room.
She had never been more tempted to listen at the keyhole, but she knew she must not. She hovered in the hallway, however, until she attracted the notice of the servants and then climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. She did not come down until she heard the breakfast-parlour door open and her mother-in-law call to John to help her to her room. As soon as she heard the bedchamber door close, she ran down the stairs and into the breakfast-parlour.
Margery was sitting by the fire, tears rolling down her ashen cheeks, her attitude one of flat despair. The contrast between this figure of hopelessness and the happy, smiling woman she had been just an hour earlier was more than Zanthe could bear. ‘Oh, my dear, dearest love, what has she said to you?’ She fell to her knees before her sister and clasped her icy hands between her own to warm them.
‘I always knew it was too good to be true.’
‘No! It is not too good to be true, for it happened. You are not going to let her spoil it for you—tell me you are not.’
‘Zanthe, my sweet sister. You do not understand. You were not brought up as I was in unquestioning obedience to your parents. I was not strong enough to go against her wishes twenty years ago, and I am still not—’
‘Yes, you are! Good God, Margery, I believe she has you under some sort of evil spell, the old witch! Don’t think of her; think of Mr Cholmondeley. He is your last chance of happiness, but, Margery—you are his last chance, too! Do not condemn him to a barren, loveless life with no one but that tedious sister of his to care for him.’
She could see from the sudden arrested expression in Margery’s eyes that she had found a persuasive argument at last. ‘Make him happy,’ she urged, ‘and let him make you happy.’
She was relieved to see her sister-in-law sit up, lift her head, and rub her wet cheeks with her palms as though she had just awakened from a heavy sleep or trance. ‘You are very right. Mortimer loves me; I must be strong for him.’ Despite her brave words, her lip trembled. ‘But, oh Zanthe, I wish we could have been married before I had to face Mama. She is so very hard to withstand.’
‘I know, love, I know. I feel it myself, and I was not brought up with her forever harping on every fault and criticising my every move.’
‘She will cast me off. I shall never see the family again.’
Zanthe laughed, much encouraged by this speech. ‘Well, that is no loss. Would you really give up poor Mr Cholmondeley to keep in with your cousin William and his horrid brats—or Uncle Horace, who always smells of brandy and
is covered in snuff stains—or your Aunt Mildred, with her everlasting agues and megrims?’
In spite of herself, Margery was laughing. ‘No, no, of course not. What a fool I am to have been persuaded, even for a moment, to renounce him.’
‘Yes, a dear fool. Now, listen to me. Every time Mama-in-Law says something to upset you on this subject, you must put your fingers in your ears, metaphorically speaking, and say to yourself, Mortimer loves me, and we are going to be ecstatically happy. Say it!’
‘Mortimer loves me, and we are going to be ecstatically happy!’
‘Again!
‘Mortimer loves me, and we are going to be ecstatically happy!’
Zanthe embraced her. ‘Excellent! I shall ask Susanna to set it to music, and you may sing it all day long.’
‘What should I do without you?’
‘You will do very well without me, for you will have your Mortimer. Now, go upstairs, wash your poor face, and don your pelisse—for we have a concert to put on.’
Twenty
A few minutes later, Zanthe and Margery set out from the Royal Crescent for the Lower Rooms, leaving the Dowager sleeping off her ill humour in her bedchamber. Parry would bring her to the Rooms later, in good time to take her seat for the entertainment.
There was much to be done for, although the management of the Rooms had let them out at a cheap rate, they had not contracted to prepare the rooms, set out the chairs, or provide refreshments.
The arrangements for the concert were not uppermost in Zanthe’s mind, however. She had been much dismayed to see how easily the Dowager had regained ascendency over her daughter and could see that, by working upon her guilt and sense of duty, the old woman might yet put a stop to her daughter’s marriage. ‘Well, she won’t do it! I shall not let her,’ vowed Zanthe mutinously. ‘I shall see Margery married to Mr Cholmondeley if I have to poison the old b—witch—to accomplish it.’
The ladies were engaged in setting out little cakes and sweetmeats upon platters when the reverend gentleman and his sister arrived. Margery looked up, met her lover’s eyes, smiled waveringly, and quickly looked away, leaving the gentleman staring. Zanthe caught his eye and beckoned vigorously.
A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance Page 12
