Lady Susan Plays the Game

by Janet Todd

  There was a knock on her dressing-room door.

  ‘Who on earth can that be?’

  ‘Shall I say your ladyship is indisposed?

  ‘Yes, anything,’ muttered her mistress wearily.

  Barton went to the door and returned at once. ‘It is Mr de Courcy,’ she whispered. ‘Shall I show him in?’

  Lady Susan paused. She felt the usual resentment of a woman caught at her toilette. Then she realised that, with the flush of anger at Frederica and with her own slight dishabille, she probably looked rather fetching. ‘Yes, yes, show him in.’ She did not rise.

  ‘My dear Lady Susan,’ he cried, rushing across the room towards her, ‘I have heard the dreadful news.’

  Yes I dare say, she thought. I dare say everybody in the house has heard it. Mrs Vernon must be in her element.

  ‘It is terrible,’ she sighed. ‘The poor child, whatever her errors, she must have been so unhappy – though her action is very wrong.’

  He pressed her hand.

  ‘But your sister has been kind enough to invite her here. She doesn’t, I fear, deserve, such consideration but I’m very grateful that Mrs Vernon has been so tolerant.’

  Reginald had seen her maternal distress: that was enough. Lady Susan had no wish to prolong the interview. So she fell silent. Reginald pressed her hand again and left quietly so that she could grieve alone.

  ‘She is an admirable woman,’ he murmured as he passed his sister in the corridor. Lady Susan was glad he’d left so briskly for now she could read the other letter. It was in the dear familiar handwriting. She settled herself down to enjoy the usual flattering words.

  Barton brought her some green tea just as she liked it and she was raising a dainty china bowl to her lips when she read something that made her hastily put it down again. ‘He can’t,’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh really.’

  Manwaring’s love, she read, had grown so flaming that he could not stay a minute longer without seeing her, touching her, feeling her … she skipped the detail and read further down. He would leave Langford, niftily disguise himself, and come to lodge in an inn near Churchill. She could steal out and meet him whenever she got a chance. It would be delicious.

  The word ‘inn’ uncomfortably fused the two events, one real, one still imaginary. It was intolerable. Neither Frederica nor Manwaring seemed to know the value of decorum. Lady Susan cared not a fig for propriety as a moral state but as social covering she cared for it a very great deal, and she despised those who seemed unaware of its power and use. She couldn’t stop Frederica arriving at Churchill, however she disliked the idea, but she must certainly prevent Manwaring.

  She put the letter away intending to burn it later. Then she moved to her dressing table so that Barton could put the finishing touches to her face and hair. When both were to her liking she felt she needed a change of scenery, so went to the library to write her response to Manwaring. It would go the usual way through Alicia, but it must be sent at once to avoid further delay. She took out paper from the bureau and a new pen and began.

  She needed to be quite explicit. The only way with Manwaring was to promise him even greater delights in the future, probably in London. That was easy and her colour rose as she used all her arts to persuade him to postpone desire.

  Mrs Vernon had watched Lady Susan go into the library and quietly followed her in. Standing at the other side of the room she gazed at the writer and thought she saw the colour mounting to her cheeks. She felt a pang of guilt at her continuing dislike. Clearly Lady Susan was now pouring out her misery over her ungrateful daughter to her friends Mrs Manwaring and Mrs Johnson.

  She thought how she would feel if dear Arabella had acted as Frederica had done. But the spark of self-love ignited and she knew that her well-brought-up children would not act so, nor would she ever send her daughter away to school. Still, she could not but feel just a little sorry for her sister-in-law in this predicament and think again how pleasant it was to have a husband to command and a house full of promising children.

  Her self-approbation made her, just for the moment, feel a little more kindly towards Lady Susan and she tiptoed out of the room to give her space to herself. Yet, when she’d left she at once regretted her action: for all her ease in company Lady Susan managed to be private and Mrs Vernon was curious to know what she said and wrote to her friends – though she didn’t imagine she could easily have read her letter. The spider image that had come into her mind earlier had lodged there and couldn’t be erased. She saw all Lady Susan’s friends and acquaintances strung out on her web, all separately attached by different strands.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning was chill with light snow tumbling past the windows. Lady Susan woke tired. As so often she wished she’d resorted to laudanum at the proper time, but, when she had gone to bed, her brain had been racing and she thought she might benefit from a few hours of thinking before trying to sleep. Now she felt sluggish while not having profited from her night hours awake. But she was soon ready for the day. It held some challenges.

  At breakfast she learnt that a message had been sent on from Charles Vernon to his wife telling her to expect him and Frederica that afternoon. Madam Dacre would not take the girl back. So that was that. He’d pleaded but she had been adamant, even hinting at something he didn’t care to interrogate. Lady Susan had hoped that Mr Vernon’s obvious respectability and signs of wealth would have impressed the headmistress, but obviously not. She doubted he’d brought much eloquence to bear on the matter.

  She was sipping tea with Mrs Vernon and Reginald in the blue morning room when they heard the carriage arrive. She felt the eyes of the others on her as the wheels crunched the icy gravel. For a moment Mrs Vernon imagined what it must be like to be the mother of a girl who had acted so perversely. Lady Susan saw the emotion, and tears obediently rose to her beautiful grey eyes. Reginald walked over to pat her hand. The action crushed the tiny shoots of sympathy in his sister’s breast. She watched Lady Susan closely.

  Yes, she was really upset. She was more agitated than Mrs Vernon had ever seen her. Yet there was something disturbing in her sister-in-law’s manner, even if she could not quite say what. The nascent sympathy did not return.

  The usual bustle was heard in the hallway. The travellers shed their outer garments and servants came forward to take them. Jeffrey brought in Frederica’s box and carried it upstairs. Then Charles Vernon entered the morning room. He was almost dragging his niece with him.

  Frederica had been silent through much of the journey, relieved that her uncle had not pressed her to talk; it was a kind restraint. On his part he had noted her strained white face and the way she sat hunched in the corner as if she feared her body would take up too much room. To him she appeared timid and sad: he worried that if he spoke she would burst into tears. He hated women’s tears. Was the girl terrified of him? Surely she would recover when she saw her mother. He and his wife would make her welcome at Churchill whatever she’d done.

  While the others looked on, Lady Susan embraced her daughter. Mrs Vernon had stood up to greet the girl and could not help noticing her slight shrinking at Lady Susan’s touch. She also noticed that the eyes that had so recently been wet with tears were now dry.

  They all sat down. ‘Some tea or chocolate,’ said Mrs Vernon brightly. ‘Or something else? You must be in need of refreshment after your journey.’

  Frederica shook her head slightly. She hardly caught her aunt’s eye as she whispered ‘No, thank you.’ Beyond that she seemed tongue-tied.

  Perhaps this was the sullenness Lady Susan had had to cope with. But there was something about the girl that, to Mrs Vernon, made her seem more pathetic than perverse.

  The others accepted the tea and the things were brought in. Now that she saw Frederica, Lady Susan was even more cross and, while raising her bowl to her lips, she gave her daughter a look that indicated just how put out she was by her unforeseen arrival at Churchill.

  Frederica caught the l
ook. Her nerves had been strung tight for so long: she had tried hard to control herself both with Madam Dacre and then with Mr Vernon. Now it was all too much: the strange house, her mother’s hostile glance. She burst into convulsive tears.

  Lady Susan got up swiftly and, taking her daughter by the arm, shepherded her out of the room and upstairs towards her own dressing room.

  Mrs Vernon heard the footsteps retreating. She was sure Frederica was miserable –but exactly why she didn’t know. Her prejudices against the girl began to fall away. What might she do? Would Frederica benefit from the tonic pills that had helped her through moments of languor after the children’s births? They had a tincture of Peruvian bark in them and that always did one good. She would seek an opportunity to suggest the remedy. Just then she looked up and caught Reginald staring at the door through which Lady Susan had left. His face expressed such rapt admiration that she grew impatient again. Could her brother be such a simpleton?

  Catherine Vernon felt like quitting the room herself, but she stayed on in case her husband had more to convey. She feared he’d not taken advantage of his time alone with the girl. Had she been with Frederica in a carriage for several hours she would certainly have ended by knowing what all this was about and what exactly Frederica had done and why. She would also have ferreted out of her how she felt about her resplendent mother. But Charles was unusually taciturn on the subject. He was fluent about Madam Dacre and her determination not to take back girls who were intent on ruining their reputations, but he had nothing to say of events before this meeting.

  The truth was that Charles Vernon was so unused to keeping matters to himself that the only way he could do it at all was through silence. He’d learnt nothing from Frederica, but he had discovered from Madam Dacre the existence of a note from a strange man. This had told her where Frederica was hiding.

  The circumstance was mysterious and certainly indecorous. He’d wanted to ask his niece about it in the carriage but her obvious distress warned him off.

  In her dressing room Lady Susan pushed the sobbing girl into a chair. She herself remained standing. ‘Frederica, I am extremely vexed with you,’ she hissed. ‘What on earth were you about?’

  ‘Sir James …’ stammered Frederica between sobs.

  ‘I want to hear absolutely nothing of that. If you know what is good for you, you will not mention him in this house. He’s a fine man whom you have grossly insulted, grossly.’ She walked closer to her daughter and stood over her. ‘You will be very lucky indeed if he shows any willingness to have you in future, especially after this unseemly adventuring.’

  Frederica looked up at her mother through her streaming eyes.

  ‘And you needn’t think you’re going to get your way by this sort of behaviour,’ resumed Lady Susan. ‘What were you doing? And who is this person you were with in the inn? No, don’t tell me, it’s too sordid.’

  ‘Mama, I truly don’t know. But he was kind.’

  Yes, I am sure he was – and so possibly were you, thought Lady Susan noting the pronoun. She’d always assumed the rescuer a man – only a man would go in for this theatrical anonymity. A ‘well-wisher’ indeed. If he’d been that, he’d have got the girl back to school that night and not let her compromise herself.

  Frederica was sobbing again.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ snapped Lady Susan, ‘do stop this silly blubbing. You are safe now, and through no action of your own.’

  Frederica swallowed and wiped her face on her already wet handkerchief. ‘He told me to go to you.’

  ‘To me,’ exclaimed Lady Susan, deciding not to mention the note she had herself received. ‘The effrontery! How could he know about me? Or did you give him our name? Surely you had more sense than that – did you?’

  She looked so fiercely at Frederica that the girl could not answer and began sobbing again, this time more quietly.

  There was no getting more out of her, and in some ways it was prudent to leave things so. Of course the girl could have been taken advantage of. She was probably too stupid to know whether she had been or no. But if she had, then it was best for a mother to learn nothing of it and for Frederica to be persuaded to put it out of her mind – unless there were unlucky consequences. She could bring Sir James round on most points – probably even on this one – but it was as well not to have to try.

  ‘You must understand Frederica that nothing of all this must be breathed here. You do understand me, don’t you? I don’t know what you said to your uncle in the carriage but you will say nothing more either to him or your aunt.’ She gripped the girl’s arm. ‘Do stop this crying – it’s making your face quite ugly. And there’s no occasion. I say again the only need here is for silence. Do you hear me? You will promise to say nothing of the matter of Sir James or the stranger to Mr and Mrs Vernon.’

  Despite her sobs, Frederica managed to nod her head weakly. ‘Yes, Mama,’ she murmured. As she put her damp finger into her dangling pocket she felt the crumpled note of instructions she’d received at the inn. She’d not shown it to Madam Dacre since there had been no chance to justify herself at the school – perhaps she’d not much wanted to be taken back.

  Now she wished to be rid of it, so she pulled it from her pocket and handed it to her mother. Lady Susan looked at it with distaste, then took it and crumpled it in her hand. She would deal with it as she dealt with the wonderful letters of Manwaring. It was best not to leave traces of oneself.

  ‘You do understand me, Frederica, don’t you? You were with a strange man in a public tavern in a very notorious place for a whole day and night. If you don’t know what happened, there are plenty of people who can guess. I hope you are not such an ignoramus as not to understand what effect this would have on anyone who heard of the circumstance. I am speaking for your own good.’

  Lady Susan felt like boxing the girl’s ears but it would not do; she would probably scream and the house would hear. But could she trust the simple ‘yes, Mama’ and ‘I promise’, which was all Frederica seemed able to utter. She walked up and down the room a few more times while her daughter continued to sit white-faced, occasionally jerking with poorly stifled sobs.

  ‘Do pull yourself together,’ she said at last. ‘I’m going downstairs now and you will stay here.’

  Lady Susan moved towards the bell rope. She had terrified the girl quite enough and felt sure that Frederica meant to obey. But her daughter was weak: it was better not to test her resolve just yet. And there had been an unsettling circumstance: when sobbing seemingly with little control, Frederica had – quite distinctly in Lady Susan’s view – glanced at herself in the triple mirror. If the school had failed to drum any manners and decorum into her daughter, it had apparently developed in her a rather unfortunate and sentimental sense of self. Lady Susan suspected that the London experience, since it appeared not to have been quite catastrophic, was leading her to dramatics; girls of her age were given to making gratifying scenarios.

  When a footman answered the call Lady Susan told him to send Barton to her. They waited in silence till the maid arrived.

  ‘Barton,’ said Lady Susan, ‘conduct Miss Frederica to the chamber assigned to her. It is, I believe, not far from the nursery. Frederica, you will stay there the rest of the day until you have thoroughly composed yourself. Is that clear?’

  Frederica nodded and got up.

  ‘Barton,’ Lady Susan continued, ‘you will tell Mrs Vernon that my daughter will not be down for dinner today and ask her to be so kind as to order her meal sent up to her.’

  Barton moved over to Frederica and looked into her smudged, almost stricken face. ‘Come, Miss Frederica.’

  As they were going towards the door, Lady Susan spoke again. ‘You will not be rewarded for your disobedience by being spoilt in this family. For the time being you’ll keep out of the way as much as you can. Is that quite clear? Indeed, I think it would be best if you remained in my dressing room part of the time. There is quite enough here to amuse you.�
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  Frederica followed Barton out of the room. She had not quite understood what was happening, especially about Sir James, but she felt that if all she had to do was be silent and withdrawn to please her mother, she could do it. She reached her chamber thankfully and lay on the bed, her eyes wide open.

  When Barton returned she arranged her mistress’s dress and face and rubbed a little colour into her cheeks. Then Lady Susan repaired again to the morning room.

  ‘Frederica will rest now,’ she told the company still assembled there. ‘It has all been so much for her.’ She paused and addressed her sister-in-law in particular. ‘She seems to be growing aware of the impropriety of her actions. I want to encourage this self-reflection.’ Lady Susan let out a slow sigh, then continued, ‘Frederica loves music and I wonder, dear Mrs Vernon, if the small square pianoforte lying unused in the upstairs landing might be moved from there to my dressing room. It would be such a comfort if Frederica could practise there alone and have time to think without the need of conversing. Would that be possible? We should both so appreciate it and it would of course allow us to be alone together and get over this sorry business.’

  Charles Vernon looked at his wife, who could do very little but agree.

  Reginald had listened intently to Lady Susan; now he got up and came to sit on the sofa near her, handing her a fresh bowl of tea and generally attending to any wish she might have. ‘What a trial it must be for you, so indulgent a parent, to have an ungrateful daughter,’ he said for all to hear.

  Soon they were in the kind of sentimental tête-à-tête that so irritated Mrs Vernon. She would like to have gone upstairs to question Frederica alone but she was hampered by her training in good manners, so stayed where she was. It is like watching a play, she thought, a drama whose key I haven’t found. I wonder what Lady Susan says to Mrs Manwaring, she mused. She saw no letters going out but concluded she must write often or there would not be so many replies. It was a shame that Catherine Vernon was not so acquainted with that lady as to be able to write to her.