by Janet Todd
There were other problems however. Reginald must have been boasting of his love when he wrote to his friends, even perhaps of his conquest, and word had reached Manwaring. He and Charlotte, now on the most frigid terms, had gone to their town house; Manwaring had written at once to Lady Susan, declaring equal passion and jealousy. At one moment he would take her to himself for ever, at the next he would run the new lover through and never see her again. He thrashed about in writing much as he thrashed about in bed.
He had a new, less pressing but still nagging worry: money. He hoped that most of Charlotte’s fortune could not be alienated from her spouse whatever happened, but it was better not to bring the matter to the test. Fortunately she was no longer in touch with her wily old guardian, Mr Johnson.
Mrs Johnson was, he’d found, a very different matter. Knowing she was Lady Susan’s friend and the go-between in their correspondence, Manwaring sought her out soon after he arrived in town. He was now to convey to Lady Susan the pleasant news – pleasant for all three of them – that Mr Johnson was about to leave for Bath where his gout, which had been worsening with the cold months, might be looked after by his maiden sisters. He didn’t want to go without his wife – she was best not left to spend his money on her own – but she’d been insistent that his sisters must have him to themselves. There would be no peace in the house with all of them squashed together, she’d said. For the moment he was confined to his chamber upstairs and could be trusted to remain there all day.
Alicia Johnson enjoyed having Manwaring in Edward Street. He was a fine man with good carriage and legs and she admired his careless way of dressing – as if he had just grabbed his expensive clothes and thrown them on. She liked sitting with him praising Lady Susan. Both were agreed she was wasted in the country and must come back to town as quickly as ever she could.
‘And let her leave that simpering miss when she does,’ added Manwaring, ‘we had the devil of a time with her at Langford, so quiet, so sly. She even made a friend of my daughter until Mary saw what she was about.’
Mrs Johnson agreed. ‘She brings no credit to dear Lady Susan. She’s the kind of timid girl who will always be protected by someone or other but contrives to be miserable however kind people are. She’s as completely suited for the countryside as her mother to the town. But Susan shines wherever she is.’
‘She does, she does,’ exclaimed Manwaring excitedly. ‘Isn’t she wonderful!’
He is a charming man, thought Mrs Johnson, so much is clear. But she herself would not – had she had the amazing chance – have married him. How silly of Charlotte to choose a charmer over the baronet Mr Johnson had found for her.
Unaware of the reassuring bank drafts, Alicia Johnson worried about her friend’s resources. She knew her habits and had tried once to warn her but, having met with a cold response, had not tried again. However, a recent remark of her husband made her resolve to mention once more the advantages of Reginald de Courcy and his income.
Mr Johnson was in increasing pain, so not in the best humour. ‘I hear your friend is up to her old tricks,’ he’d remarked from his bed while his wife sat sewing beside him. Alicia had looked up from her work and waited. ‘She’s dangling that de Courcy boy on a string. It’s monstrous. He’s the heir to one of the best estates in the south. What can his poor father think?’
‘Nonsense,’ Mrs Johnson had replied pleasantly, ‘you know nothing of the matter.’
Mr Johnson could have responded that he knew a good deal from a number of sources including a letter inadvertently left open by herself. But he thought it impolitic to mention this.
The exchange concentrated his wife’s mind. When Lady Susan arrived in London, Alicia Johnson must make more effort to persuade her to think again of this young man as a husband. A marriage would establish Lady Susan comfortably and since he was said to be infatuated – and she couldn’t imagine anyone not being so with her lovely friend – he wouldn’t interfere with her way of life, even in town. Mrs Johnson knew the stubbornness that would not let Lady Susan give up her scheme of getting Sir James for Frederica, but she would be better thinking just now of herself and leaving the daughter to relations who deserved her. Let them find the penniless girl a husband.
A few days later, as Mr Johnson kept to his bed, Manwaring paid another call on Alicia Johnson. He had worked himself into a passion. Further rumours had come out of Churchill and he declared his intention of getting on his horse and riding there to find out the truth. Mrs Johnson was appalled. Silly Sir James had been bad enough by all accounts, but an impetuous man like Manwaring would be far, far worse. Lady Susan would be furious.
She set about calming him by making him talk about his wife. She was out of all patience with a plain woman who, with so large a fortune at her disposal, married a handsome man with not a penny to his name, then expected affection and constancy. If women will be fools, they must be treated as such. She listened complacently as Manwaring described the constant round of hysterics and headaches, vapours and nerves, smelling salts and potions – and cloying demands. By getting him to concentrate on his home life – and its perils – she hoped she’d distracted him a little from his crazy schemes. But, when he’d left, she thought it prudent to send a letter to Lady Susan warning her of the danger.
‘Come to town, dear friend, and soothe this volcano or no one can answer for the consequences,’ she wrote, then added, ‘I have taken the liberty of acquiring lodgings for you in Upper Seymour Street near to myself, just the other side of Portman Square.’ Of course nothing would have pleased her more than to have invited Lady Susan to stay in Edward Street but, even when Mr Johnson had repaired to Bath, she would not have dared to do this – and he had not yet left town. She regretted deeply that she’d recently run up rather large bills for the new season’s fashions and some necessary refurbishing of the bedrooms; to have these expenses paid she’d had to reiterate her promise never to have Lady Susan in her home.
Chapter 20
Lady Susan sat in the pale yellow drawing room in Churchill with her bird embroidery spread on her lap. In recent days she had noticed her sister-in-law staring fixedly at it; as a result two of the gorgeous plumes had recently been finished – with the help of Barton. Lady Susan was musing on London and on Alicia’s advice.
It was certainly time that she returned to town but Frederica presented a problem. On the one hand she ought to be taught a lesson and that could only be done away from Churchill. On the other, it would be torture for them to be together in small lodgings. In the last week, to prevent too much gossip in Lady Clem’s coterie, she had, with the help of the Reeve & Reeve bank draft, paid some of what she owed to Madam Dacre; she hoped the money would restrain that lady from entertaining the town with Frederica’s escapade but she knew it was insufficient to make her change her mind on the subject of runaway pupils. Lady Susan imagined London headmistresses consulted together and she doubted anyone would now take the girl, even if she agreed to attend another school. After more reflection Lady Susan proposed to follow her friend’s advice and make a virtue of necessity: she would leave Frederica with the loving relatives with whom she now seemed, as Lady Susan put it to Mrs Vernon, on such affectionate terms. She would be sad to go without her daughter but she had always put Frederica’s interests first.
She was amused to see how little her daughter tried to disguise her joy at the decision. Indeed, it was one of the few times when she saw the girl without tears in her eyes or running down her cheeks.
Frederica was indeed pleased. To be accepted by people without having a perfectly straight back or knowledge of how to enter a room gracefully was happiness. She continued to worry a little about her aunt since Mrs Vernon and Lady Susan didn’t care for each other and she must, she feared, always displease one of them. But her uncle was a comfortable presence. She saw little resemblance between him and her father except in a gentleness of manner, yet there had to be a bond between brothers, and the few references Mr Vernon made t
o their shared boyhood with their dead sister – rat-catching in the old barn, winding Sarah’s dandelion chains round and round her skirts, pranks on stuffy parents – endeared him to her. She offered to show him her drawings. Charles Vernon patted her hand, ‘You’re a good girl, Frederica.’ It was so long since she’d received such praise that she smiled directly at him.
She moped when she learnt Reginald de Courcy was going to Parklands and then to London. He had betrayed her to her mother. But she remembered his kindly expression when she’d sobbed before him. Lady Susan was invincible – it was no surprise that even so wonderful a being as Mr de Courcy should admire and want to serve her; heroes had weaknesses, though they always overcame them in the end. Reginald de Courcy had been affected by what she herself had said, she was sure of that, and even though he’d taken no further notice of her, the fact that Sir James was leaving so abruptly must be due to him. He had acted for her. She had wept too much or too soon, she knew, but good young men must be touched by the sight of a sobbing young girl. And Mr de Courcy was good. He had given her his handkerchief. She had washed it, then neatly folded it; now it was always under her pillow or in the top drawer of her cabinet. She doubted her mother had so intimate a part of him.
In contrast to Frederica, Barton was delighted to be leaving Churchill. The little flirtation with the upper footman had not turned out well: he’d been seen kissing one of the parlourmaids near the door to the wine cellar, a raw country girl with nothing but dimples to recommend her. Sally Barton would be glad to be back in London with more stylish company. She had said as much in the servants’ hall.
Lady Susan and Reginald decided to leave separately but meet up in town, by which time she would, she hinted, be ready to entertain his proposal. She had bestowed on him a narrow plaited piece of her fair hair bound with a thin blue silk ribbon; to Reginald its glossy haziness resembled her dove-grey eyes. He would have it set as a miniature, a token to cherish until he saw her again.
On a bright, almost spring-like morning Reginald prepared to leave in his curricle for Parklands while Lady Susan would take the Vernons’ coach to London with her maid and Jeffrey as postilion. It would be good, she thought, if she could once more ride in her own carriage.
Again she considered the money waiting for her and wondered whether it might stretch to a new equipage. It depended, of course, on how much more would follow and how many debts she would be forced to pay off in the end. As she watched her trunks being loaded she reflected that her clothes were too few and old-fashioned. She resolved when she reached London to provide herself with the smartest spring mode. She was now in half mourning and visualised the extra finery open to her. Pleasant hours would be spent in Oxford and New Bond Streets at the milliners with Alicia Johnson, along with private fittings at the French dressmakers in Conduit Street.
Reginald and Lady Susan parted in private. Mother and daughter took their leave more publicly in the hallway. Moved by her seeming good fortune – and guilt at her relief that her mother was going – Frederica was emotional, but did not cry. The moment was not prolonged. A quick embrace and Lady Susan was gone. Reginald did not say a particular farewell to Frederica; she closed her eyes as he left and resolved not to be hurt.
As she travelled from Churchill, glimpsing the leafless branches of the avenue against the grey sky, Lady Susan’s mind reverted to the first outfit she would order. With it she might have a her hair thrown into larger curls and contained with a bandeau of black and white ribbon cut out and formed into a wreath of flowers. In the front she would wear one black and two white ostrich feathers. Her petticoat, she was sure, would be best in clear lawn, embroidered in black; over it she proposed a Robe a la Turque of black taffeta, with black braids on the back. There would be long gauzy sleeves and a handkerchief also of Italian gauze, which would lie within the robe. The whole would be finished with a gold festoon necklace and the earrings Lord Gamestone had given her, white gloves, and shoes, embroidered in black. So decked – and she was not sure that the robe would be quite the style – she would enjoy brilliant nights at the tables of Lady Harriet and Lord Cawton, and, of course, afternoons with Manwaring. It was a full programme and Lady Susan intended now, after such rural purgatory, to live each hour to the utmost. She had grown weary of manoeuvring. It was so provincial, so familial.
It was drizzling as Lady Susan arrived in London but she didn’t notice it. At Churchill it had not rained or sleeted every minute and it probably rained no more in the country than in town; yet she had a sense of rain running incessantly down the windowpanes. The combination of wetness and too much vegetation, whether at Langford or Churchill, reminded her of summers in Bury. That was enough. The very name brought with it long vistas of boredom. She remembered betting that a drop of water would fall from the icicle on the school window frame before she counted to ten.
The carriage drove directly to the new lodgings in Upper Seymour Street where she prepared to settle in at once. The landlord was gracious: the Johnsons’ expensive chariot had done its work when the rooms had been taken. Also, Alicia Johnson had inspected the place carefully, thus conveying to the owner the importance and discernment of his new tenant.
The apartment must be more expensive than she ought to afford, mused Lady Susan, especially with the ambitious wardrobe she was imagining, but she put the matter out of her mind. Manwaring would do anything, of course, if she were really in need, but, while things were so tense between him and his wife, this was out of the question. And, if Lady Susan were to allow a favour, the subtle play of domination would be marred.
She had been in Upper Seymour Street only a few hours, breathing the welcome dust of London through the slightly open window, filling her ears with street noises, so preferable to the chattering of cold birds, when Mrs Johnson was announced.
‘Oh my dear Alicia, how wonderful to see you. I owe you such gratitude …’ began Lady Susan.
Her friend interrupted, ‘Happy to see you, of course, delighted, but I have such miserable news. Mr Johnson has heard you are come – I am not sure how he does it – and suddenly the sciatica is too bad for him to travel to Bath for his gout after all, so he’s staying at home. He gets his symptoms to plague me, I know he does. He’s had himself moved down into his study quite in the middle of the house, and I’m supposed to be his nurse instead of those ghastly sisters. It’s all too absurd. I’ve crept out now but I can’t stay. Oh this isn’t what I wanted at all! I so looked forward to our time together. It’s as much to make me scream with rage.’
‘Don’t do that, Alicia,’ said Lady Susan smiling. ‘Keep the screams for your spouse. He makes such a virtue of patience he would be bound to bear them stoically. But you would marry an old man.’
‘I would and I did. You know I had little choice – I have not your beauty, dear Susan. And, to tell truth, it’s in the main comfortable enough except when it deprives me of you. But I must go. I don’t know when I can come again but I will soon. Meanwhile you must see Manwaring – I can’t entertain him with Mr Johnson now so close by. He’s so amorous he needs quieting before he betrays you both – I mean Manwaring, of course.’ And, with a hasty embrace, she dashed out to her chariot and was gone.
Scarcely had she left, and Lady Susan taken a moment to order a dinner at about six for the journey and sights of London had given her an appetite, when Manwaring himself was announced.
He was as affectionate as she remembered, though seeming a little older. Memory played tricks. But he was a very welcome sight. After much embracing, much planning of afternoon romps and outings from town, Lady Susan was eager for him to be off. ‘You must go. Mr Johnson is still in London and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t employ spies to watch my lodgings.’
Manwaring took no notice but continued to press her tight, pulling at her shawl to feel her naked shoulders. She tried to push him away, continuing, ‘Oh yes, he will know them. He may even have had his wife followed when she took them. She’s the dearest woman but
not always on her guard. And there’s your family. Charlotte may be a bore but she’s not quite a fool and with Mr Johnson’s help she could yet prove formidable.’
‘They don’t speak,’ he replied, his voice muffled by her lacy trimmings. ‘Anyway I don’t care a fig for her, not this,’ and Manwaring snapped his fingers, then curled them round into a sharp caress of Lady Susan’s neck.
They were beginning to excite each other but she remained resolute. After more embraces, he left with such a fondness in his face as expressed his feeling to any passer-by. As he went down the steps, he looked up longingly at Lady Susan’s first-floor windows.
She hoped there were indeed no spies present. Wisely she stood behind the curtains just out of sight, so that he couldn’t get a glimpse of her and blow a kiss through the watching street. She must tell him to come more discreetly next time. Men had so little sense. That night after her early dinner she was at Lord Godring’s faro tables, where she was addressed by Lady Glint as if she had never been away. To Lady Susan too it seemed as though she had hardly left London. The smell of the new packs delighted her, while, after so long in the pastel greys and greens of the countryside, the whole room seemed vibrantly scarlet and black, quite unlike the dim musty redness of the Churchill stairway: full of fiery candles and hangings that picked out the colour of the cards.
She had wondered momentarily if Manwaring would be there. But he did not often move in her circles and in any case he didn’t much care for cards. His betting was done on cricket at White’s where he and his friends tried to bribe the players. The losses he’d told her about suggested he’d had little success. One famous loss had been due to the Prince of Wales, who had bet on the other side: it was assumed that the Prince could pay bigger bribes.
