A Cousinly Connection

by Sheila Simonson

  "Very well," Julian said as civilly as he could through clenched teeth. "After dinner." He lurched through the door, leaving Vincent staring after him, open-mouthed.

  He went down to dinner late, feeling unenthusiastic and not one whit guilty about keeping everyone waiting. He stood outside the small salon a moment, mentally holding his breath, then pushed the door open.

  "...and it's my belief he was foxed. At four o'clock in the afternoon," Vincent was saying in ringing tones.

  "Oh, it's you, Meriden," his stepmother murmured. Plump Drusilla peered at him around her sister, hoping, no doubt, that he would fall drunk at their feet; Maria uttered a tiny shriek, and Vincent flushed to the roots of his hair.

  It was Jane Ash who rescued everyone from the horrors of melodrama. She rose with her customary composure and tidied her aunt's shawl into neat folds. "If you are quite ready, Aunt Louisa, perhaps you will take Lord Meriden's arm. Cook's temper has been uneven of late, and if we do not go in now I am persuaded the fish will be spoilt."

  After that, events proceeded with excruciating stateliness. It seemed to Julian, who had no appetite at all, as if the nauseating parade of courses and removes would never end. He was conscious of behaving badly. He ought to have dispelled their embarrassment with some light remark, but his mind had gone blank. In consequence, everyone chattered uneasily about nothing and kept asking him meaningless questions, to which he made monosyllabic replies.

  He pushed a portion of greyish mutton about on his plate and found Miss Ash's eyes on him. Catching his glance, she looked down quickly at her own plate as if she were ashamed of something, and he began mentally composing excuses and explanations. At the foot of the table Lady Meriden droned on in a plaintive contralto. Drusilla waxed shrill.

  At last, however, the ladies withdrew. The servants removed the cloth, brought in the heavy decanters and, in their turn, withdrew, leaving Julian alone with Vincent.

  "Brandy or port?"

  "Brandy."

  Julian poured a measure into the glasses. Because his hand was not quite steady, he spilt a little on the table.

  "I say, that'll cause a mark..." Vincent's voice trailed.

  Julian mopped up the liqueur and pushed the glass towards his brother without speaking.

  "I'm sorry I said that," Vincent blurted.

  "Said what?"

  "About being foxed."

  "Poor timing," Julian said nastily.

  Vincent turned scarlet.

  "What did you want to talk about?"

  Vincent looked as if he would have liked to throw his drink across the table, but he took a stiff swallow instead and choked.

  Julian regarded him without sympathy and sipped at his own brandy, which was excellent. He toyed with the idea of drinking himself into a stupor to satisfy everyone's expectations but, somewhat reluctantly, rejected the notion. Very good brandy. Cognac. Probably run, he reflected sourly, but the spirits worked their mellow way and he felt the muscles at the base of his neck begin to unknot. He glanced at Vincent and said, in what he hoped was a more civil tone, "You might as well open your budget. It must be a matter of some weight to send you posting out here at the height of the Season."

  "No, dash it. Meant to wait on m'stepmother. In mourning, y'know."

  Julian's mouth twitched. "Cawker."

  Vincent eyed him uneasily. "Sorry. Cork-brained thing to say. Of course you know."

  "Yes."

  "The thing is, Meriden, I must talk with you about my allowance."

  Julian's brows snapped together. "What of it? I directed Horrocks to continue it, didn't I?"

  "Yes." A constrained silence fell, then Vincent burst out, "Thing is, it ain't enough."

  Julian stared.

  "I daresay you're going to throw it up at me that m'father never made you an allowance," Vincent said sulkily.

  "No, why should I? I had my pay." He added thoughtfully, "Of course it amounted to less in a year than you run through in a quarter and was usually months in arrears. I trust Horrocks is more punctual than the Peer's paymaster."

  Vincent flushed. "I knew how it would be."

  Julian began to feel rather ashamed of himself. A priggish thing to have said. "I'm sorry. That was unnecessary. You know I mean to establish you, Vincent, but I can't see my way to it yet. Bear with me."

  "I can't live on it. "

  "You mean you won't, I collect." Julian caught at his flying temper.

  "Do you give me the lie?" Vincent's hand clenched on the table.

  "Oh, God, Vincent, stop talking fustian."

  "Do you?"

  "Shall you call me out?" Julian's temper flew beyond any curb. "Pistols at dawn, just like dear Harry? Grow up, Vincent."

  Vincent had gone white. After a moment he rose and left the room without speaking, and Julian had leisure to recall that Vincent had worshipped Harry. He cursed himself softly and comprehensively.

  * * * *

  Some hours later Jane set out in search of Meriden and found him hiding in the library. She was not insensitive to atmosphere, but she had reached the end of her patience with Stretton melodrama, for Vincent had created a Scene.

  He had flung into the withdrawing room and taken his farewell of his stepmama in such extravagant terms as to entirely discompose her ladyship. Jane had had to call for hartshorn. Whether Vincent meant to put a period to his existence, or to his brother's, or merely to spend the night at an inn was far from clear, but he had flung out of the house in the best Kemble style, leaving Jane to cope with his female relations.

  As usual in a crisis, Maria wept and Drusilla asked embarrassing questions in a voice that must carry to the farthest reaches of the servants' hall. Lady Meriden moaned antiphonally. In the midst of this pandemonium, Felix entered and announced his intent to remind Meriden of the promised music master. Jane suggested he wait until morning. That set Felix off in his worst mood of whining self-pity. She found herself promising to beard his lordship, if only Felix would calm himself and go to bed.

  By the time she had calmed everyone, the hour was advanced and Jane had hopes that Meriden would already have retired. However it was not to be.

  When she entered the library, he did not look up but said, in repellent tones, "Go away, Turvey."

  "Pray do not trouble to rise," Jane snapped. "I wish to speak to you, sir."

  He sank back as she took the wing-backed chair opposite him. "I beg your pardon."

  "For mistaking me for Turvey? I think you might. I fancy I am somewhat lighter on my feet. He suffers from corns."

  "Does he? How very well you know my household."

  Jane let that pass. "Are you ill, my lord?"

  "No. And not foxed either"

  "Then I'm persuaded you have injured yourself."

  "I hit. My knee. On the footboard."

  "That explains all," Jane said cordially. "You have every excuse for driving Vincent wild, oversetting my aunt, and causing cook to comfort herself with the kitchen sherry. I believe you refused every side dish at dinner."

  He stared at her and presently his mouth relaxed. "Have I driven Cook to drink?"

  "Yes. And she's the only one who knows how to prepare my aunt's gruel."

  "A terrible coil."

  "I don't know how it is," Jane reflected, "but gentlemen do not regard these small domestic consequences to their acts. So it is when my father is in a rage. I squander a deal of time comforting offended servants, for, you know, people cannot work well when they feel themselves to be held in small esteem."

  He raised his hand in the fencer's salute. "Touché. I shall mend my ways. Do you customarily lecture in Domestic Economy, Miss Ash?"

  "Only to those who obviously require instruction," Jane said warmly. "You have been remarkably cow-handed, my lord."

  His mouth set again. "I know. Has Vincent left?"

  "This hour past."

  "'I daresay he's putting up at the Rose and Crown. I'd best go fetch him back." He made to rise.

 
"What a practical idea!" Jane cried, exasperated. "'Vincent will suffer no harm. He's been looking for a set-down these three years at least. I am persuaded you'll wind up on crutches if you chase after him. How long do you propose to continue this foolishness?"

  He looked blank "What foolishness?"

  Jane regarded him warily. "You are the Major Stretton who was recently invalided out of the 95th, are you not? Wounded, I collect, at Waterloo?"

  "These are scarcely news," he said impatiently. "It has been nearly ten months since the battle."

  "My lord, surely you realise they do not know you were injured."

  He shrugged. "How should they not? They must have known the Rifles were engaged. My God, we were at the centre--La Haye Sainte. We took the brunt of Ney's assaults alongside the KGL. I'm tolerably sure my colonel informed Lord Meriden."

  Jane was silent. It was not her place to point out to his lordship how very indifferent his late parent had been to his welfare.

  Meriden's eyes narrowed. "My father!" he exclaimed and began to laugh immoderately.

  Unsmiling, Jane waited until he had regained his composure. "I must own I consider my uncle-in-law to have been a reprehensible parent."

  "I feel sure you are right. As usual." He grinned. "What am I to do, Miss Ash?"

  "Your long delay in coming..."

  "I was learning to walk."

  Jane's throat tightened, but she said in what she hoped was a matter-of-fact voice, "You must inform them."

  Meriden shook his head and began to laugh again. "What a famous joke. I thought they were all being unnaturally tactful. Especially her ladyship."

  Jane essayed a smile. "I had nearly resolved to tell them, but when I considered the probable reaction, my heart sank and I could not." She paused, frowning in thought. "I abhor deceit of all things. However, in this instance, I believe I was justified. Only consider, sir, how my aunt would carry on. Fallen warriors! Saviours of Britain! Our brave heroes in scarlet!"

  "Green, Miss Ash," he interposed in a shocked tone.

  She smiled. "I know, but you may be sure that such a consideration would not weigh with my aunt."

  "Verisimilitude?"

  She shook her head. "I fear you do not understand her."

  "I think I read her tolerably well. She goes in for sweeping effects. Mere details may go hang." There was a pause. He added thoughtfully, "I believe I'll take the coward's way out, at least for the time being, and tell no one. Though I should think it very obvious..."

  "It is not noticeable except as a certain stiffness of carriage," Jane interposed in her driest tone. "I daresay if they had known you well..." She let her voice trail.

  "I see." He was frowning a little, in surprize, she thought, but he did not pursue her remark further, saying merely, "If you don't object to joining me in deceit, I shall leave well enough alone. My stepmother's possible ardours seem more terrible to me than her present loathing."

  Jane agreed in an absent tone and sat for a moment abstracted.

  "What is it?" he asked gently. "You must be very tired of my family's quirks and megrims."

  She met his eyes. "I find them diverting. If I didn't, I 'd harden my heart and abandon Aunt Louisa to your evil designs. My father writes in the most affecting terms of his need for me."

  He frowned and started to speak, but she held up her hand.

  "My brother's wife fed him roast pork, which he abominates. I feel very sorry for Papa, but Joanna must take up the reins of the housekeeping at some point. I don't propose to be at their beck and call forever. And besides," she added without thinking, "there is Edward Wincanton."

  He sat up, eyes agleam.

  Jane flushed. "A naval officer, sir. I developed a tendre for him when I was very green."

  "Ages ago."

  "Nearly seven years."

  "Do I take it--"

  "My sentiments did not endure, though it was melancholic at the time. When Captain Wincanton was a mere ensign and a younger son, my father forbade the match. I was quite cast down. Oh, for months. Aunt Louisa entered into my feelings most exactly."

  Lord Meriden grinned.

  Jane gave him her best governess-look. "She was very kind, and exerted herself so far as to present me to the ton the next year. I feel a sincere obligation to her, sir."

  "No doubt, but surely you are not going to leave me in suspense, Miss Ash. It is too unkind. What of your nautical friend? I say, Wincanton...it's not old Shivers?"

  "I couldn't say, sir. Edward Wincanton."

  "Florid complexion, gooseb...er, prominent eyes, carrying voice..."

  "Yes. He barks. I don't know why that should send you into the whoops," she added crossly.

  "I beg your pardon."

  "Indeed he was very well looking when I first saw him."

  "An estimable man," he agreed. "An excellent officer. Bound to rise."

  "He did," Jane said firmly. "I am sure any lady must consider his attentions flattering. So I have told him. Repeatedly."

  "But he won't listen."

  "No," she said in something like despair. "He is devoted to me, sir, and I find I cannot return his sentiments, however I may try."

  Meriden's eyes glinted, "It is too bad in you, Miss Ash."

  "I believe I must be quite heartless. A lowering reflexion. Unfortunately my father now no longer objects to Edward's suit, so, you see, I am not at all eager to return to Sussex."

  "Certainly not."

  He looked as if he were enjoying a private joke, and she wished she could share it, but she thought it time to return to more material matters, for he also looked very tired.

  "You must think me a thrusting sort of female, and perhaps I have been, but you know, sir, though I may have come to Dorchester partly to put myself beyond Edward Wincanton's importunities, I did find your family in a very sorry state."

  "And that surprized you?" he asked with unexpected shrewdness.

  Jane regarded him thoughtfully. "I should not have thought my aunt inconsolable, and your father, of course, did nothing to gain his children's affections..." At that, Meriden shewed signs of lapsing again into unseemly mirth, so she went on quickly, "If you had been able to come at once and reassure my aunt, all must have been well."

  "You overrate my powers of persuasion, I fear."

  "Perhaps. Certainly you handled Vincent very ill. There is no vice in him, you know."

  "I'm relieved to hear it."

  She ignored the wry comment. "He is a little addicted to gaming. Not faro so much as those absurd wagers boys of his age must always be laying one another."

  "Vincent is not a boy. He is one-and-twenty and down from Oxford."

  "I must say he seems a boy to me. Do you not think, sir, that varsity life often prolongs childishness, especially in young men who are not bookish?"

  "I must yield to your superior knowledge."

  "I had thought you must have taken Vincent's measure at once," she said candidly, "for you have dealt famously with Felix."

  "Felix!"

  "I meant to remind you of your promise to engage a music master for him. That is why I sought you out tonight."

  He looked conscience-stricken. "I knew I'd forgot something important. Good God, Miss Ash, what am I to do? Is he very angry?"

  "No, merely impatient." She looked at him curiously. "Is the matter so urgent?"

  His brows drew together. "Of course. I promised him."

  "Well, he will certainly kick up a dust."

  "And so he should. His gift is remarkable. I'm astonished that he has borne with inferior instruction for so long. How criminally stupid in me."

  Jane was taken aback by his vehemence and said, after a thoughtful moment, "Perhaps the Calverts might be persuaded to share Mr. Thomas."

  He looked puzzled.

  "Rosehaugh. Mr. Calvert is your tenant--the MP."

  "Yes, I know that."

  "They have engaged Mr. Thomas of Lyme Regis to instruct their daughters. He is a superior performer, alt
hough I believe the girls are terrified of him. They are neither of them musical, and he will tear his hair and rap their knuckles with his baton."

  "Is he competent?"

  "I believe so, Lord Meriden, but my judgement is not precise. I enjoy dancing music, you see, which sinks me beneath Felix's reproach. "

  "What a rude cub he is."

  "Oh, yes. I begin to see some justice in his tantrums, however. No one has troubled to encourage his gifts in a serious way. He has been coddled and cossetted, of course."

  Meriden scowled.

  "And his disability confines him so," Jane added. "It is no wonder he frets."

  "Why is that?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Confines, you said. He's nearly fourteen and well grown. Healthy, I believe."

  "Oh, yes, very."

  "You speak of him as if he were an invalid."

  Jane stared. "How true. Oh, dear, what a fool I've been."

  "Not you. My estimable stepmother." He met the reproof in Jane's gaze, and his mouth relaxed. "Well, I shall have to see about this Mr. Thomas. Has Felix heard him play?"

  "Once, at Christmas. He enjoyed the performance, I believe. At least he made no derogatory remarks."

  "Encouraging. Thank you, Miss Ash." He hesitated, then said rather gruffly "Should you object to driving with me to Rosehaugh tomorrow? I'm not well acquainted with Calvert and know his family not at all."

  It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out that he had far better stay in bed on the morrow with a poultice on his knee than to gallivant about the countryside, but she caught herself in time. A fatal slip to have made.

  Apparently he misread her silence for maidenly reserve, for he added in colourless tones, "Perhaps my sisters could be prevailed upon to join us."

  "I should be very glad to come." Jane rose to go, being careful not to notice his clumsiness as he rose, too. "Good evening, sir, and pray do not refine too much upon Vincent's behaviour. He'll come about." She held out her hand.

  He took it. "Good night, Miss Ash."

  "Some day you must tell me how Edward Wincanton came by the peculiar nickname you used--Shivers?"

  His eyes gleamed. "Oh, no, I must not."

  Jane laughed. "How abominable in you to pique my curiosity. You had much better not have mentioned it, for now I shall be imagining all sorts of things."