by Janet Todd
‘I expect your head is running on weddings and babies,’ he remarked. Sir Dell was a confirmed bachelor in late middle age and had little idea of what girls were thinking. But, considering the efforts made to catch him when he was a young and even a not-so-young man, he assumed this must be the case for marriageable misses.
Was it banter or query? Frederica didn’t know. So she smiled, reddened, sipped her tea and stayed quiet, only the flutter of her eyelids registering that she had heard.
He assumed he was on the right track, so pressed on. ‘Perhaps you already have a young man in mind. You young girls turn heads before you’re much out of the cradle.’
A few more such remarks and Sir Dell saw that Frederica was scarlet. It dawned on him that she was really upset.
‘You mustn’t mind me, my dear,’ he said and patted her knee.
The recent experience with Sir James preyed on her and she winced. Sir Dell caught the movement and concluded that she was stuck up as well as shy.
Despite these graceless moments – and the exaggerated recoil when Sir James had been alluded to – on balance Alicia Johnson did not judge the day a failure. But, when she sent her account of what she had discovered to Lady Susan, in all fairness she could not report very favourably. ‘She is young for her age and shies away from any talk of marriage and even lovers. She is not what one expects from a boarding school – those girls tend to be too forward in my opinion, or rather they are often too knowing in a sly sort of way. But she was very fond of Chubb,’ she added inconsequentially.
Her report would not entirely please Lady Susan and, when she’d dispatched the letter, she regretted the remark about Chubb since her friend often failed to notice him when she called. But she intended to repeat the visit with Frederica when her husband was away again and then she might have something more encouraging to write. The little Frederica had disclosed made it clear she’d no love for her school, which sounded rather like a prison. It was expensive – Lady Susan had complained of the fact, though Mrs Johnson doubted much money had changed hands as yet – so presumably the harshness was intentional and for the girl’s own good.
On the next visit she would plan the time more appropriately. Frederica was more of a child than a young lady despite her appearance, and they’d best visit the menagerie at the Tower rather than fashionable shops. Also, the way she’d turned over her volume of Mrs Radcliffe’s Udolpho made Alicia think the girl might like a trip to the theatre. They could see something unexceptionable such as The School for Scandal, which kept returning to the stage – Mr Johnson said it was what happened when one censored politics in the theatre: there was only trivial rubbish left. In his wife’s view, familiarity had the advantage that one could chat with friends throughout the performance. In any case, whether Frederica liked the play or not, she would surely be impressed with Henry Holland’s beautiful new theatre in Drury Lane. Mrs Johnson anticipated some pleasure in seeing her reaction. She probably wouldn’t say anything but her eyes would widen as she saw the immense and shimmering expanse of people in their fine clothes and jewels.
Before Mrs Johnson could put her good intention into practice, another note arrived from Lady Susan responding to the report. ‘According to what you have written,’ it said, ‘my daughter has not developed as I wished. Your description of her demeanour at tea, while amusing, was disheartening for more than its disclosure of her conduct. Remember that Frederica is in school to learn obedience as well as manners; I won’t be thwarted in the matter of Sir James.’
Although she had mentioned the young man, as instructed, Mrs Johnson had assumed her friend would have turned her attention to some other possible suitor by now. She knew Lady Susan’s strain of mischief and the inveigling of him from the Manwarings must have pleased her – it might have been an end in itself – but it seemed that the Lincolnshire acres remained tempting.
‘Turn your attention to Sir James,’ the letter continued, ‘and make sure he does not meet your husband again. He’s still on his estate but soon due in town – I have it on good authority. He’ll be a sitting target for any girl who cares to try for him: he has a habit of telling people his income. Imagine, Alicia! Keep him from entanglements by inviting him when Mr Johnson is from home, then talk of Frederica and her charms. He mustn’t escape. The girl is so foolish that there is little chance of her attaching anyone with money and sense. Sir James is the best a mother can do. I rely on you, my dear. As for Frederica, let her stew in Madam Dacre’s establishment. She will come to her senses if she is uncomfortable enough.’
Unaware of her mother’s instructions, Frederica waited to be invited to Edward Street again. Despite having suffered at moments, especially with the insistent Sir Dell, she hoped that the following week, or at least the one after that, Mrs Johnson might come for her again. School was gloomier than ever. Madam Dacre scolded her and the dancing master said she was clumsy, clumsy.
Chapter 11
Lady de Courcy’s news excited her son. He was eager to set off for Churchill at once. Originally he’d planned to be at his friend Richard Marchmont’s for Christmas but he would only be slightly missed there; other young men had been invited and could hunt and shoot, play charades and do their dramatics without him. The chance of seeing the scandalous widow in action was far too good to miss. He could dine out on it at his club the rest of the year.
The Hon. Richard Marchmont understood the change of plan for it was he who had met Mr Spencer, who had met Mr Carlton Smith, who had been at Langford, and consequently some of the goings-on had filtered through in a most gothic form. They mainly concerned a Sir James and his courtship of three women simultaneously. Then there was something about an amorous vicar, but Marchmont had forgotten the details.
It was impressive, thought Reginald, that a woman of Lady Susan’s years could still startle men. His sister was much his senior and he could never imagine her in flirtatious mode. At Oxford he’d joined in the naughty habits of the other young men, one after the other tipping Dolly from the inn at Woodstock, and he’d once gone with them to a local brothel where he had done little and been shocked. Richard Marchmont mocked him as a puritan. In fact, he was used to the fresh charms of Jenny in the village dairy near Parklands, and the painted faces of these women, some he suspected nearing thirty, alarmed him. He was not without experience – Jenny had been kind – but something prevented him from paying for what he often desired, and she, dear girl, had never asked.
He felt a thrill of revulsion at the idea of Lady Susan. A woman past her prime should be simply a mother. He was glad the daughter was not there as well. The rumours from Langford pronounced her a dull thing, neither in nor out, rather proud and with no sense of pleasing anyone. Apparently she’d set her cap at a rich landowner but failed to get him. The details were obscure. Possibly this was the man who’d been in pursuit of three women.
Catherine Vernon had often invited her brother to Churchill for Christmas, but until now she’d not persuaded him. He loved her dearly and imagined he wanted to see her. But, when he visited her and her mild spouse, he missed the enjoyable badinage of young men, and his niece and nephews, though no doubt adorable in their way – so Catherine often told him – were not of an age to amuse a young man. Last time he was there he’d thrown one or two of them into the air and that had seemed to please, but he’d drawn the line at doing much more, despite heavy hints from his sister. All in all he would have liked more serious or more frivolous company, something to stir the brain or senses.
He was surprised that Catherine had taken Lady Susan into her house – or had been persuaded to do so. Reginald had heard the woman denounced on more than one occasion over her dinner table but he supposed that propriety made it difficult to refuse a widow. He imagined her all in spangled black with a red lining to her gown that she flashed wickedly when no lady was looking. He supposed that old women who wished to attract must use any arts they could, including naughty drapery.
He travelled fast towards
Churchill in his new curricle. He was proud of it and the two swift grey horses he commanded. Although rather bespattered with mud from the wet roads he knew he made a good figure coming up the drive and that at the first sound of his wheels his sister would be at the window.
Reginald de Courcy was not especially handsome – his nose was a little too small and indistinct – but he thought himself so and, while no dandy, he had Ladder, his man, take special care of his Woodstock gloves, silk cravats and high-top boots, and his hair was trimmed very often in the new short style. The glasses at the de Courcy mansion were on the whole dim and he’d been used to seeing himself through the eyes of his adoring mother and sister.
He had left his hunters with Richard Marchmont since he didn’t intend to stay long after Christmas was over. He would pick them up when he travelled back to Parklands. He hoped, before returning to London, to get in some pheasant shooting there and good riding if the weather was open. In Churchill he could use Charles Vernon’s horses if the occasion arose – he had pretty good mounts, he remembered. He would see the notorious widow, shoot with Mr Vernon enough to be polite, then leave.
Although the library faced south and had windows that took in the drive, Lady Susan did not see Reginald’s curricle approaching. The day was misty and a prospect of damp grass and gravel shrouded in white was unappealing. She preferred letting her eyes rest on the patterned Indian shawls she allowed herself to wear indoors when few were present to consider degrees of mourning. They reminded her deliciously of the shawls in the Langford summer house.
The prospect of Reginald didn’t excite her; she had little hope of amusement from a de Courcy. Yet perhaps he would enliven his sister and make her less constantly play the mother. This would allow Lady Susan to slacken in her devotion to little Freddie, whose selfish behaviour would, she felt, be much improved by a box on the ears.
The night had been one of sleeplessness again, with a dose of laudanum taken towards morning. She always felt a little fatigued after this and had stayed late in bed to sleep off the potion. She knew that by the afternoon she would be recovered and be better for the drug-induced rest, but at the moment she felt dull and just a little low in spirits.
When Reginald’s curricle was being wheeled away by a groom and the owner momentarily resting on the gravel before entering the house, she happened to glance out of the window between the heavy drapes. He was standing with his legs apart, his greatcoat hanging in folds from his shoulders. Green and manly, it was in the best fashion and went well with its owner’s sandy hair. It was the figure of a gentleman whose self-esteem had rarely been dented by family or friends, a man satisfied with the body – and possibly the mind – he possessed. Lady Susan returned to her dressing table, abandoned the shawl and had Barton fiddle a little more with the arrangement of hair around her cap and dab on a touch of rouge. She could in time let her hair fall more loosely to good effect but a demure demeanour was always best at first.
When satisfied, she bit her bottom lip. Her mouth was naturally a carmine colour but it did no harm to help nature on; the action came involuntarily before she encountered a new face. Then she dismissed Barton and sat a moment looking in the mirror.
Her bored mood was lifting but a remnant remained. She determined against it, smiling that smile that was hard to resist, even for herself. Then she moved down the corridor and began to descend the curved stairs.
Reginald was in the hallway. His greatcoat and hat had been removed and he stood in the centre of the swirl of children, while his sister clucked delightedly nearby. Against their noise Lady Susan’s light footsteps could not have been heard at the bottom of the stairs, but something, perhaps a movement in the corner of his eye, caught Reginald’s attention and he looked up. In front of the red wall, lit against the gloom of the day by flickering candles, the descending figure seemed a sort of dark angel, in brilliant black and white. He dropped the damp little hand he had been clutching and felt for his necktie.
Attuned to any removal of attention from her darlings, Mrs Vernon followed the direction of her brother’s gaze and saw Lady Susan descending composedly into the middle of the welcoming chaos. She felt a pang. Until this moment she’d feared that Reginald would find her sister-in-law uncongenial. He might mock her charm as superficial, mendacious even. She had imagined him trying to catch his sister’s eye over dinner while Lady Susan was narrating one of her sprightly anecdotes or was vivaciously mentioning her enjoyment of their quiet domestic routine. But now, in this very first moment of their encounter, when they had yet to be introduced – a new, not quite articulated fear began to well up in Catherine Vernon.
She pushed it back, for Reginald had good-naturedly turned again to the children and was attending to Arabella’s boasting of her dancing skills. Yet, there was something about his stance that made her aware that he knew someone else was entering the hall.
Lady Susan descended the last step and Mrs Vernon came forward. ‘Lady Susan, let me present my brother Reginald de Courcy. Lady Susan.’
Lady Susan proffered her hand. Reginald bowed slightly over it and, when he looked up, she lowered her eyes.
Was this the famous coquette? He’d expected an immediate sauciness. His surprise kept him silent a little too long and Lady Susan politely helped him by asking in a quiet, respectful voice, ‘I hope, sir, you had a pleasant drive down here despite the weather?’
She’d been too far from him to register the first glance he’d given her as she descended the stairs, although she assumed he’d noticed her. The look he now gave her was a curious one, compounded of astonishment and hostility; his eyes moved from her eyes to her bosom in a way that was almost impertinent. Then he recollected himself. The struggle so plain on his open face amused Lady Susan, but her smile gave nothing away.
She had a good idea of what he must have heard from his sister. Young men tended to be censorious for they knew so little of life and thought so well of themselves. He meant to dislike her, that was clear, probably he intended to be wittily critical at her expense. The wish crossed her mind, that he would be thoroughly prejudiced against her, that he’d been told of the Langford stories – certainly by now they were abroad. It would be a fine game to make him approve of her whatever he supposed, rather like knowing the bank had everything stacked in its favour while she lacked a single face card yet determined to win. Almost involuntarily she made a wager with herself that she could charm this arrogant youth within a fortnight. Churchill might after all deliver some pleasure.
Soon they met together in the yellow drawing room. Lady Susan’s flattery of Catherine Vernon was toned down, for she now had to keep both siblings happy. It was easier when they were apart but she felt up to the task even when they were both in sight. She fancied Mr Vernon was diverted by the spectacle, but couldn’t be sure. Was he mild through a mixture of sagacity and laziness or was he simply dull? His eye usually promised more than his tongue delivered.
Reginald began the talk in what he believed a roguish manner. ‘You must be missed at Langford, Lady Susan. I hear that your stay was enjoyable for all.’
‘I found it most pleasant,’ she replied, noting that indeed something had seeped out from Langford, ‘Mrs Manwaring is a childhood friend. We were in school together.’
‘Miss Manwaring is something near your daughter’s age, I believe. They too must have become good friends.’
‘I wished it. But Frederica is reserved and has not had much chance to mix with girls of her own rank. She was much attached to her father. His loss continues to affect her deeply. Of course, it affects us all.’
Lady Susan seemed to muse on her various sadnesses and Reginald did not pursue the point. She’d looked at him when she spoke and her eyes seemed brilliant, almost as if they held unshed tears, but when she stopped speaking she modestly turned them away.
His sister was more vivacious, asking him a thousand questions about what he’d been doing and what his plans were. While he replied he thought Lady Susan w
as gazing at him but when he hazarded a glance he found that she was politely smiling at his sister. Her lack of response to him allowed him to take longer looks. He noticed the exquisite embroidery on her lap, where its vibrant colours beautifully complemented her dark clothing.
His sister did not register his stare but she did observe that the colourful embroidery had not noticeably advanced while her guest had been at Churchill.
The next day over dinner, Reginald tried again. ‘There was good company I hear at Langford,’ he began when the general talk lapsed. ‘You had many guests, perhaps?’
‘There was some entertainment and many visitors,’ replied Lady Susan. ‘The vicar was a frequent dinner guest.’
‘Ah the vicar,’ said Reginald with half a smile.
His tone embarrassed his sister; she was not used to her brother being so crude. She was about to intervene when Lady Susan continued, ‘You perhaps know him, Mr de Courcy? He has written a commentary on the Book of Judges. He is a particular friend of Mr Manwaring and his wife.’
She spoke in a low quiet voice. The quietness commanded attention – people had to strain to hear her.
‘I don’t know of him. Not at all. I just thought that perhaps he was someone I’d once met, but probably not.’
How maladroit Reginald was being, thought Mrs Vernon. So strange. She said brightly, ‘Perhaps if the weather is improved tomorrow, we might take an airing, a drive through the beech woods to the chalk hills.’
Mr Vernon glanced at his brother-in-law: he doubted that this was quite what the young man wanted. ‘A good plan my dear,’ he said, ‘but I had hoped to take Reginald hunting with me. I have got him an excellent mount.’
But Reginald had caught sight again of Lady Susan’s lowered head, he found he wanted to hear her voice again, and perhaps quiz her further and more successfully. ‘Another day, Charles,’ he replied. ‘I should be delighted to see the chalk hills with my sister.’ Then turning to Lady Susan he said, ‘You will accompany us, will you not, ma’am?’
