Lady Susan Plays the Game

by Janet Todd

  Lady Susan noticed the progress of aunt and niece with amusement. On one occasion she overheard Frederica say to Mrs Vernon, ‘Mama’s poor sister was cruelly murdered by the French. Mama manages so well but she must feel it terribly.’ She didn’t stay to hear what her sister-in-law would respond to this sentiment; the notion of Frederica trying to understand – worse explain – her mother was wonderful. She imagined the pair chatting over tea about her difficult home life: it was almost enough to make her let Reginald fondle her breasts in full view of every south-facing window in the house. ‘The impudence,’ she exclaimed as Barton painted over a mark on her cheek with a little rouge.

  She let her mind wander over the men she now had to control. Despite his impetuosity she thought fondly of Manwaring, the first of these. Her letter had halted his mad plans of disguise and clandestine meetings but the idea of them had brought him so forcefully before her that it was difficult to efface the image. A certain danger made love piquant and those blissful afternoons and night-time romps were some of her happiest memories.

  She expected they would be together as much as possible in London. Surely Alicia could assist there. She pondered the idea. Her friend would enjoy helping and would be discreet. But, if her husband got any inkling of what was going on, he would come down on poor Manwaring, then there was no knowing what would happen, the pair in different ways so hot-headed.

  The second man on her list was Sir James. He had acted stupidly of course, but if he kept quiet for a while, she could remedy everything. He had not been told what had happened to Frederica and knew only that she could not be found in the school when he called. If he now stayed in Lincolnshire with his carthorses and pigs – or sat rattling in some gentlemen’s club in London – while she did the business for him, all might yet be well.

  Thirdly there was the insolent ‘well-wisher’ to whom she was supposedly beholden – or not, as the case might be. Who was he? Was it someone known to her? Might it be Jack Fortuny – though the letter had not been in his hand – and why would he be so mysterious? Nor would he write so pompously. Could it be Lord Gamestone? She assumed he had still his fondness for her but he wouldn’t be abroad at night on foot, and how would he – or indeed any of them – know Frederica? Certainly it was not his usual writing. She dismissed the idea and returned to reviewing the few men who would want to do her a good turn – for she supposed that men might assume that returning her daughter was doing just that. None fitted. She must await events. The circumstance was mysterious but not threatening, unless there was blackmail in the offing. She felt sure that she, rather than Frederica, was the central character in the drama – the remark about going to the mother proved it.

  Finally there was Reginald. Lady Susan had to admit she was growing just a little weary of his attentions. Some piquancy had been added when she noticed what was presumably plain enough to everyone: that Frederica was making doe eyes at him, and that Mrs Vernon was looking on complacently. It was ridiculous, of course. Did the girl really think she could have such a man without her mother’s help?

  In Lady Susan’s view it was now time that Reginald made a direct proposal for her hand. Progress had been interrupted by Frederica’s arrival but the moment was again ripe. She would listen demurely, plead her widowed state and motherhood, and make sure that everyone in the house and at Parklands knew what had happened.

  In the afternoon, before he prepared for his ride Reginald received an unwelcome letter. It was short and from his father. It was enclosed in a longer one from his mother.

  Sir Reginald told him succinctly that he was a damn fool to be chasing after an old flirt and if he persisted, he, Sir Reginald, would see that his son received not a penny from him while he lived. And he would never be welcomed at Parklands either. Reginald would have the satisfaction of knowing he had sent his worthy father to an early grave. It ended by ordering him to stop the tomfoolery at once.

  Lady de Courcy’s letter was more temperate. She’d had to send off her husband’s note since he watched her as she quickly prepared hers, then sealed the two together, giving the packet to his valet to get franked; otherwise she would have suppressed it.

  ‘You know, Reginald, how hot-tempered your father can be when roused,’ his mother had written. ‘He has not been at all well these past weeks. And this is really my fault. Your sister’s letter was not meant for him or she would not have written so openly about her silly suspicion. It was sheer accident that the note fell into Sir Reginald’s hands. He of course jumped to the absurd conclusion that you are contemplating marriage.’

  Lady de Courcy had left the room for a moment to call the valet when he failed to answer the bell, and the letter had been sticking out of her reticule. When she returned Sir Reginald was reading it, working himself into a lather.

  ‘It is all quite absurd,’ she continued. ‘I know that you are only being polite to an older woman and a guest – you are always so good-natured. Please, please do not reply to your father; any response will only infuriate him. I do hope we shall see you soon in Parklands. When you come I shall make sure that Sir Reginald mentions nothing of this nonsense.’

  The son’s first response was to echo his father’s fury. He took a few rapid turns around his chamber, then dashed out. He had a mind to go straight to his sister and berate her for daring to meddle in his affairs. But she was not where he expected her, so he strode down to the billiard room and knocked a couple of balls hard against the wooden sides of the table. By the time he returned to his room he’d changed his mind. If he and Catherine quarrelled openly – as they would do given his present mood – it would put the house in uproar and the turmoil would affect Lady Susan. How very upset she would be! He could hardly bear to imagine it – after all she had suffered.

  He returned to his room and, as he put on his riding clothes, thought of the woman his father was so incensed against. Why did she inspire such extraordinary enmity? What calumny and jealousy she’d had to cope with, even from his sister and his family.

  She needed a protector, someone virile and determined. He, Reginald, should be that man. He could guard and defend her against any further slander; her delicate frame should not be the victim of men’s malice or women’s barbarous gossip. He felt sure it was women who had started the false rumours, for what man could withstand such grace, such musical tones? He wished his sister at least would moderate her feelings. He’d not been used to thinking Catherine jealous but now here was proof that she had the usual weakness of her sex.

  He noticed that she was courting Frederica – probably to spite Lady Susan. She was always crying the girl up, pointing out her fine hazel eyes, though to his mind they lacked brilliancy. They seemed painted on to an unformed face, and had none of the depth he saw in her mother’s. He had noticed the way the girl shrank from Lady Susan and his heart melted for the mother, so unappreciated where she loved most. He would have it out with his sister but not just now. He would not spoil a day by quarrelling when it might be filled with the woman he was rapidly coming to accept that he loved.

  By now Lady Susan inhabited his mind. Indeed, except when hunting with Charles Vernon and sometimes the rector, so needing to make a little conversation and concentrate on the sport, he didn’t think of much else.

  He loved the frisson, the daring in his devotion: a young man wooing a woman who was the mother of a marriageable girl. He smiled to himself. He knew he was out of the ordinary. His friends at Oxford would stare when he told them his news after – as he was now thinking to do – he proposed to Lady Susan. Yes, they would stare but they would be impressed. Then they would gossip and mock among themselves until they saw the lady; after that they would be silent. With this single act he would show them and his parents and his sister, who had always tried to dominate him, that he was his own man and a man of the world. He was secure in his fortune of course but it was important to be secure in himself. No one could now think to persuade or cozen Reginald de Courcy. He sat on his horse and gallop
ed along towards the village. There had been another cold spell and he rode as fast as he could to heat himself: the chill air warmed round him.

  By next morning he was feeling especially pleased. He set off through the hall and down the steps to meet Lady Susan by the dolphin fountain in the formal garden, bare now except for patches of yellow aconites. The pair were to take their daily walk together round the beds and into the shrubbery. Yesterday while they were promenading beside the little frost-topped hedges he had looked up and seen a face at the window of Lady Susan’s dressing room. He believed it was Frederica: if the girl would spy on her mother he could feel only contempt for her. Today he’d intended not to look up but he did so all the same and he was glad no face was there.

  The sun shone brightly after a hard overnight frost and, despite a chill in the occasional gust, the air felt almost balmy on his face. He arrived at the fountain first. It was now empty of water except for a thin coating at the bottom, which had turned to ice and had not begun melting back. He let his eyes rest on it for a moment.

  He turned when he heard Lady Susan’s steps lightly pressing the gravel. Her appearance so eagerly imagined always exceeded his expectation. To him she looked like the goddess of the garden with her golden curls shaded by the black lace. Her very walk was musical; it was, he thought, as if she danced an eternal minuet. He wanted to take her in his arms there and then.

  But he dared not. Even when they moved out of the formal gardens and were momentarily behind the broad oak tree at the end of the wall and so screened from the many prying windows of the house, even then she remained decorous. The distance she demanded was delicious, yet somehow it promised an almost unimaginable closeness.

  Although her stance still forbade familiarity, this morning he discerned a subtle change in her manner. When he drew near to hear her low voice, she did not gently pull away as she used to do. He felt the softness of her bosom near his face while he bent towards her. It was so close he thought he’d almost kissed it.

  Intending to move them both a little further into intimacy, Lady Susan was having no trouble with her designs. Yet, even as she succeeded, she found her daughter running in her head, interrupting her concentration. What a nuisance that she had been brought to Churchill. Nothing could be more inconvenient. She looked into Reginald’s eyes. It amused her to note that, while her sister-in-law was struck by Frederica’s eyes, now so often turned on her brother, Lady Susan knew them to be making no impression whatsoever. The thought added sparkle to her own; it raised Reginald’s adoration still higher until he was dizzy with delight. A trick of the light made her golden hair glow: he felt overwhelmed by her brilliance.

  One of her smart black and buff boots had become untied and she stopped, slightly lifting her skirts. Reginald swooped down bringing one knee close to the wet ground. She raised her foot on a little stone edge that bounded a flower bed. Her soft black-grey pelisse hung in folds from her silk-clad leg and Reginald bent over the boot reverently. As he did so he could not resist putting his hand on the silky leg and ankle. It was only a moment’s touch but it gave him an overpowering sense of warm flesh. He looked up into her face and caught her looking at him.

  ‘Oh Susan,’ he cried.

  He might have gone on and been assured of a welcome at last but, as Lady Susan put her boot back on the gravel and Reginald steadied himself and stood upright, there came a piercing shriek from the house, travelling across the formal garden and along the shrubbery, breaking the morning silence.

  It was Frederica’s. Distinctly Lady Susan heard the shouted words: ‘He is come, he is come, whatever shall I do? Oh! Oh!’

  She froze. The girl was often out of control with her endless sobs but such behaviour so contrary to everything her mother had commanded could mean only one thing.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr de Courcy,’ she said, bowing her head slightly towards him, ‘I must go to my daughter. I fear she is in trouble.’

  For a moment he seemed unaware of what she’d said, so completely had he succumbed to the amorous mood. But then she dashed away, leaving him dazed.

  When he came to himself, he followed swiftly. He moved faster than Lady Susan in her swishing skirts and they mounted the steps of the house almost together. They entered the hallway.

  There they encountered a heavyset young man, fashionably dressed, though to Reginald’s eyes not quite tastefully so. He, Reginald, had been interrupted in one of the most important moments of his life by this stranger and he bore him no good will. His irritation increased as he saw that, although a much weaker specimen, the man standing before him had a disturbing similarity of complexion and build to himself.

  The visitor’s face brightened when he spied Lady Susan. A foolish grin spread over the wide face. ‘My dear Lady Susan,’ he exclaimed and laughed loudly. ‘As you see I have come to visit.’

  Reginald was surprised, more so when he was introduced to Sir James Martin. He recognised the name as that of the daughter’s suitor and flushed. The rumours from Langford flooded back into his aroused mind. They were ridiculous and yet he wondered with a jolt whether he had ever entirely banished them. He looked at Lady Susan but she didn’t catch his eye.

  She had forced her face into a polite response. ‘Please send for Miss Vernon,’ she told Bevan, who had ushered in Sir James, ‘I wish her to come down at once and greet our visitor. We will be in the morning room.’

  Frederica received the butler’s message like a sentence of death. Although on the first sight of Sir James getting out of his carriage, she had screamed and fled up to her chamber, closing the door fast, she knew that she could not remain safe within for very long. She could not disobey an express command from her mother. Besides, she had always been afraid of Bevan with his scented powdered wig and straight back, a dignified man so unlike any of the familiar old domestics at Someyton.

  She rose quickly from the bed where she’d thrown herself, smoothed her rumpled hair and dress, and started along the corridor and downstairs. With the butler’s measured tread on her heels she was forced to go forward more quickly than was comfortable, her feet felt like lead.

  She entered the room, her dread plain on her face. She knew she displeased her mother but could not disguise her feelings. Her expression struck them all – for Mrs Vernon had now joined them to greet the visitor.

  Sir James made a movement towards her, then stopped, grinned, gave another burst of laughter, and said, ‘Miss Vernon, I hope you are well.’

  Frederica murmured something inaudible and shrank back.

  Lady Susan took over with those civilities the others seemed unable to muster. She was furious. If Sir James’s actions at Wigmore Street had been understandable though unwise, these were not. Explicitly she had told him to leave the affair with her. But here he was making everything more difficult for them all. He was even stupider than she’d thought, more lacking in manners than at Langford.

  By now he was apologising to Mrs Vernon for his sudden intrusion. Once would have been polite, but he repeated his apology over and over again until she gave up responding. With Frederica he made no advance, though from time to time he addressed remarks to her bowed head.

  Was she enjoying her stay in the country?

  No answer.

  Did she ride out often?

  She slightly shook her head.

  He had called again at Madam Dacre’s Academy and had been sad to hear she had left so suddenly, but he imagined for such a young lady … He trailed off. Even he was beginning to realise that he could not make Frederica respond.

  Lady Susan rescued him again and again from her daughter’s silence until, feeling fatigued, she proposed that, since the day was so bright, Sir James might like to see the pleasure gardens. Despite her annoyance she was amused to remember that these had so recently been the scene of Reginald’s rapture. Although Charles Vernon had carefully selected the plants in the winter beds, perhaps only Frederica had noticed his choice with any interest, otherwise the gardens seem to e
xist mainly to receive the overspill of human emotion from the house.

  Lady Susan’s suggestion was accepted with alacrity, and the women went off to put on warm outdoor clothes. When she came in from her walk with Reginald she had removed her pelisse and handed it to the footman. It was a happy circumstance, for it allowed the three women to leave the room together while the gentlemen remained a while behind.

  Neither group was at ease. Reginald had watched the proceedings without gaining much clarity. He had seen Frederica’s stricken look and heard the young man’s fruitless attempts to talk to her. This was apparently the approved suitor. On the surface it was a reasonable match – but clearly not much to the girl’s taste.

  Reginald was not someone who could chat amiably while thinking through a problem, so, while waiting for the ladies, he studied some hunting prints on the wall that had never before attracted his attention. He wished Mr Vernon had been present, for he had no wish to engage Sir James in conversation – or rather listen to him, for the man showed some desire to tell him of his journey, his speed and the prowess of his bay horses. But Mr Vernon had gone off riding round the estate early in the morning.

  Lady Susan used her time to better effect. Frederica had immediately fled to her own chamber leaving the other two women to move more sedately up the stairs. Lady Susan seized her moment. It was necessary to give some explanation to Mrs Vernon, who had remained ominously silent, except when initially assuring Sir James of his welcome to Churchill. She could not prevail on her sister-in-law, but she might manage to plant a doubt in her mind, which could in time counter the evidence of her senses.

  So, as soon as they were alone Lady Susan began, ‘May I, dear Mrs Vernon, have the quickest word with you in private in your dressing room? There is something very particular I want to say to you.’