by Janet Todd
‘Miss Vernon, you must know …’ he began.
‘No, no,’ she exclaimed again, pulling her hand and arm away sharply. ‘No.’
Then she scampered off, dropping her pencils as she went.
It was over in a moment and yet when she was back in her room she felt the instant had been an hour and the hand so long and heavy on her wrist that it must have left a mark on her flesh.
In the library that looked towards the shrubbery Lady Susan was flicking through a copy of the Gentleman’s Magazine which Manwaring had brought from London and which she often read to acquaint herself with enough news and views for light chatter. From the window she could just make out the tree seat on which her daughter had planned to sit and had observed the coming together of two people. With her weak sight she could not be sure but she surmised what was happening. She then watched as a dark smudge fled towards the house and a lighter brown and tan one moved in the opposite direction. As he came into focus she saw Sir James swipe viciously at a lavender bush on the edge of the knot garden, then stumble over a protruding stone and kick it.
She took in her breath, held it a moment, then exhaled loudly. Frederica would now be sobbing her heart out somewhere – she hoped in private. If only Sir James were not so clumsy; if only Frederica could see where her future lay. The young couple richly deserved each other but could, it seemed, do so little for themselves. It was going to be more challenging than she’d once supposed.
No doubt Mary and her gloomy mother were now thoroughly upset. If Lady Susan had seen events outside, then others with better eyes had perhaps been watching too. Things were moving too quickly on each front. She would need to calm them, pacify the house before there was an eruption that would discommode them all.
Her best tool would be Miss Dawlish. So, when they both happened one day to be embroidering alone in the downstairs front parlour and Mrs Manwaring had gone to lie down with one of her increasingly frequent headaches, she took the opportunity to speak privately to the cousin.
‘You know I am so very fond of Mrs Manwaring, dear Charlotte. We have spoken of her little problems but they are nothing to her great qualities.’ She saw Jane Dawlish purse her lips. ‘She needs a little cheering and I want to do what I can. It’s so easy to enforce someone’s melancholy by sympathising too much, so I try to be cheerful around her. I know she dotes on her husband, and I do hope I amuse him a little for her sake.’
She looked earnestly at Miss Dawlish, then dropped her eyes to her beautiful embroidery. It displayed colourful birds of the New World and Lady Susan had been working on it for a very long time. When she raised her eyes again she thought the cousin looked perplexed.
‘I fear if we don’t all entertain him he will be off shooting with his friends again and poor dear Mrs Manwaring has so little energy at the moment she would miss him terribly. She will be better, I’m sure, soon, but we all need to help her – them – through this difficult time. I do hope I’m not speaking out of turn and you agree with me. Men are not like us, as we both know so well.’
She smiled. Of course this prim spinster didn’t know; she knew about as much as Frederica though three times her age. ‘They are so easily bored,’ she went on, ‘so little aware of others’ needs, though sometimes good-hearted of course,’ she added in that throwaway manner that made so many people believe they were her intimates.
Despite her suspicions Miss Dawlish found herself agreeing. Indeed, her cousin was too loving – anyone could see it. Once again it was hard to suppress the thought that if she, rather than Charlotte, had inherited the fortune, she would have made a better choice. She might have taken a worthy clergyman – or, preferably, a female companion, a pleasant modest young girl with whom to chat and read. ‘It was important for my cousin to marry,’ she said cautiously, ‘and of course it will be for dear Mary.’
‘Miss Dawlish, I believe you are a woman after my own heart,’ responded Lady Susan. ‘As we agreed before when we had our enjoyable talk, the unmarried state, if one has enough to live on, is surely the highest for a woman. She can order her own life and do such good in a community.’
‘She can,’ cried Miss Dawlish before she could stop herself. ‘I have often thought that Charlotte and I with her fortune could have made a wonderful little society of useful women.’
Great heavens, thought Lady Susan, she would enrol me in this spinster school if she could. ‘And how very wonderful that would be,’ she replied. ‘But alas,’ she paused, ‘we must make the best of things as they are. And for Mrs Manwaring to be happy I fancy Mr Manwaring must be at home. And with matters so delicate – as far as I can judge – with Sir James and Mary, a man’s presence is most necessary. To keep Mr Manwaring here we must entertain him.’
She sighed, as if to acknowledge the burden, then smiled gently at her companion, who smiled eagerly back.
The upshot was that an evening of entertainment was prescribed, a ball with some fiddles and a small collation. It would be hastily got up but, since it was full moon, it was easy to persuade neighbours to come at short notice.
The ball was ostensibly to cheer Mrs Manwaring and persuade Mr Manwaring of the delights of Langford. Less openly it was to lure Sir James back into appreciating what the family had to offer. Lady Susan had not discussed him with Miss Dawlish – it was best to avoid the subject. She must think him a fool, but perhaps the spinster had so little knowledge of men that she believed him a common specimen. Or maybe she was unimpressed with young Mary and considered it not an ill match – she didn’t appear an exceptionally fond aunt. From their recent talk Lady Susan supposed that Miss Dawlish had not a lot of time for Mr Manwaring either. Certainly he had little for her.
For now Jane Dawlish was in her element; she would organise everything, consulting with her cousin only over the menu and some of the arrangements for the rooms. She loved preparing celebrations and parties and had had little chance recently to show her skill. She dashed around, not staying more than a few minutes in any one place. She went from room to room, planning diversions, getting furniture moved and tables put up. She gave orders, retracted them, then gave the same again. It was all hurry and confusion but to Jane Dawlish it was a pleasant uproar; even Mrs Manwaring showed more vitality than usual. Only Mary and Frederica in their different ways avoided the excitement, though Mary did perk up a little at the idea of wearing her new pink ball gown from London.
On the chosen night the family dined at eight, then repaired to the rooms made ready for dancing and cards. These were resplendent with flowers and candles, so that the silk-shot draperies shone in the flames and the heavy old silver ornaments glittered.
The Manwarings really were very rich. Lady Susan had not noticed, until this display of light, just how much silver and brocade some of the rooms in the older section of the house were furnished with, how much old copper rubbed and polished into shimmering yellow. All was opulent and fine: it was a shame that many of the guests would be so rustic.
Around midnight the visitors arrived, making a crowd of about fifty in all. Lady Susan stood briefly at a window looking out at the flares lighting up the knot garden. It was a beautiful sight: it reminded her of what Manwaring had married and why. She wondered what it must have been like when young Charlotte was told of her boy cousin’s death and understood that she, still a boarding school miss in Bury, was heiress of all this.
Lady Susan was looking at her most dazzling. Her gown of charcoal taffeta and gauze sparkled with sequins and a delicate black lace framed her low-cut bodice. Barton had caught her fair curls in tortoiseshell combs, not too tightly this time, and she wore the necklace of emeralds that Lord Gamestone had given her; they nestled where her bosom rose above the black lace. ‘My dear Frederick made a present of them to me,’ she told Mrs Manwaring when her friend admired their rich glitter. ‘In the wreck of our fortune I could not bear to part with them.’
The men, including Mr Carlton Smith, the vicar (whom Carlton Smith always resented whenever
he was addressed), and the young Pallisers, gathered round her. One or two gentlemen were particular in their compliments, but Lady Susan laughed them off, swatting them like flies from her dress. They were of no use to her and she saw that the excessive attention offended Mary – and Miss Dawlish, who sent her some glances mingling disappointment with distaste. She tried to catch the latter’s eye but Miss Dawlish prevented her.
‘It’s a sparkling scene,’ remarked Mr Carlton Smith, his eyes trained on Lady Susan’s sequinned bodice.
‘Certainly, and the Manwarings are fortunate in the night. You must have had a starlit ride.’
‘The moon was too bright,’ chirped tiny Mr Sandwich and chortled good-naturedly, ‘we didn’t see anything.’
Later Miss Dawlish noticed Mary, all pink and white, standing with the bored younger Palliser, who actually yawned. She had a dissatisfied expression on her face. Miss Dawlish must rescue her and try to restore the girl’s good humour, or she would be in a fine pet for the rest of the week. As she walked across to her niece, she was waylaid by Lady Susan, who had deftly disentangled herself from the surrounding men.
‘Miss Dawlish,’ she cried, ‘you and your cousin have excelled yourself, or rather’ – she lowered her voice – ‘you have, for I know that all this is down to you. No, don’t deny it.’
Still influenced by the sight of Lady Susan with her admirers, Miss Dawlish tried to repress her pleasure. ‘I am so glad you applaud it,’ she said at last, a smile breaking on her face.
She continued on her way towards Mary. ‘Where is Sir James?’ she enquired of her niece.
‘How would I know, Aunt, I’ve hardly seen him.’
Mrs Manwaring cared only for what her husband did and, since Lady Susan had ordered him to train his looks elsewhere and not address her except when absolutely necessary, he kept his distance and busied himself with the guests. She herself declared she would not dance. Why do so if Manwaring was out of bounds? ‘I am so recently a widow,’ she explained to Mr Carlton Smith. ‘It’s so pleasant to be here in retirement.’ She smiled and glanced sideways through her long lashes. Then she dismissed him – just that bit too quickly for his liking. Later he saw her talking to the vicar and frowned: he felt neglected.
Sir James was Lady Susan’s particular duty and he had to be handled with care. He was still cross from his repulses by Frederica, whose coyness had however only heightened his desire. Indeed he’d never felt anything quite like it – his mind now a jumble of swelling bosoms, soft flesh, bridled necks and velvet mounts. Lady Susan soothed him with quiet words. She reminded him that a lady did not accept a man’s attentions at first, that he must not lose heart if his heart was in the matter, and that in the meantime a gentleman must be polite to everyone.
Since Frederica was dancing gracelessly with the peevish-looking Stanmore boy, she told him to go and be nice to Mary and ask her to take a hop with him – she used the word she thought appropriate for a Lincolnshire squire. She then berated him – just a little – for not engaging Miss Manwaring before. It was remiss of him as a guest and still the official suitor.
At first he seemed reluctant to obey. He wanted to remain with her whether she danced or not. She gazed at him in amusement. He really didn’t know whether he wished to pay court to the mother or to the daughter. But it was clear he no longer wanted to pay attentions to Mary Manwaring.
Lady Susan ordered him again and sometime later she saw him leading Mary out for the country dance. The girl didn’t seem especially happy – no doubt Sir James’s invitation lacked polish – but at least her scowl was less pronounced.
The fiddles played and Lady Susan looked on as two new visitors took Sir James’s place and tried their gallantries on her. The vicar joined the party and made a sprightly remark at which they all laughed. Mr Carlton Smith gave them a pained look. Lady Susan caught it and smiled placatingly.
It was probably as well that Frederica was not dancing with Sir James. He had desperately wanted to ask her for the Scottish reel but Lady Susan had advised against it. ‘You must let her be bashful,’ she said. ‘Let her come to you slowly in her own time. You are already rushing her.’ As a result Frederica was now led out by the still bored young Palliser; despite his military intentions he seemed scarcely out of the nursery.
Later Manwaring took Frederica on to the floor. She danced awkwardly but her mother could not help noticing that Manwaring acquitted himself well even with so clumsy a partner.
‘Have you had dancing lessons, Miss Vernon?’ he asked, his eyes twinkling.
‘I did the country dance with the dancing master at my friends near Wymondham,’ responded Frederica in a whisper.
‘Aha,’ he said forcing her into a twirl, ‘that must have been the three-footed number.’
She couldn’t understand his tone and kept her eyes down.
‘But I’m sure you have very pretty feet,’ Manwaring went on, ‘however many they are.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Certainly they’re smaller than Mary’s, which are like paddle boats.’
He grinned and she smiled weakly. Was it right to mock his own daughter? Her papa would never have done such a thing. Then she blushed: was he joking perhaps? She wished the dance was over.
Just then the pattern whisked her away; when she came close to Sir James she made sure not even her gown touched him.
Back in the line with Manwaring she thought she should say something but could think of nothing. Her anxiety made her more nervous than ever. The wind had come up and howled outside but not even the weather could tempt her from silence.
‘You’re trembling at the knees like a horse that’s galloped too far,’ said Manwaring with a chuckle. The horse analogy brought Sir James horribly to her mind.
Lady Susan gave her lover and Frederica only the most cursory glances when they came together again – it was too dangerous to do anything else. But she enjoyed the comedy of the coupling.
When Manwaring had left Frederica, Lady Susan was amused to find her trailing after Mary towards the supper things. Her former friend had obviously no wish to speak to her and turned away whenever she was close. Sir James lacked dramatic ability and Lady Susan feared that he’d been unable to conceal his confused feelings or keep his eyes where they should be. She imagined that his mindless chatter was less attractive to Mary than it had been when he’d been her declared suitor and was offering a house to re-furnish and an income to spend. She wondered how much the girl really knew of his changed feelings. She doubted that Frederica would have confided in her.
It amused her that none of them had much idea what they were about. They were all going round like so many planets in an orrery, with no sense of each other’s paths.
Some of the older men and women had sat down to cards in the Chinese drawing room, and in due course Lady Susan joined them. Manwaring had had the same idea after his dance with Frederica, feeling he had done his duty by the ladies. So it happened that the two ended up on the same table. Studiously she avoided his eyes.
The stakes were low. Ironically Lady Susan found herself winning and winning in this unimportant game; always the trump cards arrived in her hand. Was this to do with Manwaring? If so, he would need ‘punishing’. She smiled to herself as she thought this but avoided glancing at him. She knew that, despite all her warnings, now that he had drunk wine his eyes were often on her.
As they played she found, to her surprise, her longing for him grow. Usually the game took over. True, this was a very tame one, but, had it been otherwise, it would still not have overwhelmed the new feelings, the new ache.
She could almost feel Manwaring, although he sat on the other side of the table. Once or twice she thought she touched his foot but she was afraid to lift her eyes in case she was wrong and the contact encouraged him to gestures that must be too revealing.
The ball, the wine, the excitement of company and the brilliant rooms with their shimmering candles meant that, when people left about six in the morning, there was a languid des
ire still unfulfilled. Just at the last moment Lady Susan let a look towards Manwaring escape her. He caught it. She went upstairs and lay for a moment fully clothed on the daybed in her dressing room. She would not summon Barton at once. She did not feel like her maid’s usual chatter. Since Barton had become friends with Mrs Manwaring’s maid Parker she was too full of household gossip. Then the door slowly opened and in slid Manwaring.
It was reckless for he was noisy when excited. Yet she had often wished this. The summer house had fitted its purpose: always it had that element of danger, though Lady Susan wondered whether Manwaring confided in his man Robert, using him to stand guard in the grounds. But the space had been cramped and the Turkish sofa with the shawls Manwaring must have brought surreptitiously from the house smelt just a little musty. It had been furnished as a hermitage, he said laughing, only his wife had never managed to lure a hermit into it. And all the time there had been the beautiful blue dressing room left vacant. Now here he was.
He closed the door and came towards her. She stood up. In silence they pulled off each other’s clothes, the petticoats, the breeches, the chemise, the shirt. Soon they were in her bedroom on the bed with the silken sky blue spread and he was wetting her with her own wetness. It was delicious, like caressing herself with him. She slapped the white rump that lay beside her and which was caught in the triple glass in the adjoining room. He held her hand tightly, almost roughly and slapped himself with it like a whip. Her hand tingled, as it did in playing the cards. She slapped him again, then hit him hard.
‘Wait,’ he said. She lay tingling in the dark, aroused and pained by the sensation. He returned with a black lacquered whip he had held inside his jacket. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘for you’.
He left mid-morning before the house was stirring after the night. She mused on the pain and aching pleasure. It brought her half-sister Henriette to mind – the guillotine, the violence of France. She had worn black for her and her bankrupt count but wasted no tears on people she’d never known.
