When Lucy went to her room to dress for dinner, she was soon interrupted by Mrs Kingsley, in some agitation.
“Now, Lucy dear, do not bite my head off, or… or take umbrage… whatever umbrage is, for I am sure I do not know, except that one takes it when someone says something disagreeable to one. So I hope you will not.”
Lucy struggled to follow this tangled train of thought, but one idea filtered through the muddle. “You are going to say something disagreeable to me?”
“Well, I do hope not, not very disagreeable, at any rate, for you are a sensible girl and would not be… But you see, I know how it is, when he is in society, he will turn his eye on this one or that, and naturally, she falls violently in love with him. They all do, although what it is about him that is so mesmerising as to cause even the most level-headed girl to go positively wild, I cannot for the life of me say. But there it is. It has been so since he was about sixteen, and he takes advantage of it shamelessly, quite shamelessly. There are such stories about him as you would not believe! Married women, too. It is quite dreadful. But you will not be taken in, I am sure.”
Lucy could not help laughing. “Oh, ma’am, if you are speaking of your brother, you may be very sure that I will not be in the least taken in by him. He is very charming, I will grant you that, but he is of no interest to me.”
“Oh.” Mrs Kingsley seemed taken aback. “Of no interest? None at all?”
Lucy shook her head. “Young men do not appeal to me very much. They are too… too callow and selfish for my taste.”
“Oh. Callow and selfish. I see. Ah, but of course! You are still grieving for your poor dead husband. Naturally no man could compare, that is perfectly understandable. Well, just so long as your heart is not likely to be broken by my rakish brother.”
And with those words, she turned for the door and would have been off in an instant, so great was her energy. Lucy was quite bewildered by her, so clearly full of health and yet supposedly too ill to stir from her chair.
“Ma’am, pray tell me—” Lucy burst out before she could prevent herself.
Mrs Kingsley stopped, her hand on the door knob. “Yes, dear?”
“What is it that ails you, ma’am? For you look so healthy, and yet it must be a severe illness to confine you so.”
For an instant, Mrs Kingsley looked startled, but then she laughed. “Oh, did no one explain? Yes, it must seem very odd to you, and indeed, I feel as well as ever I was, with not the slightest thing to trouble me. And yet…” Her face twisted in sudden grief. “Two babies already, and both dead, and now I am increasing again and… and it must be my fault, Peter says, so I must take the greatest care and get it right this time.” A large tear rolled unheeded down one cheek, but she forced a smile. “So now you know. I shall see you at dinner, dear.”
4: An Evening Party (February)
The evening was as dull an affair as Leo could remember. Apart from Kingsley, Gussie and the twins, there were several guests. There were always guests at Longmere Priory when there was the least danger of a family dinner. How Gussie hated to be en famille. Tonight there was a large gaggle of neighbours from an adjoining estate, a local clergyman, his wife and daughter, and an elderly widower. There were not many possibilities for Leo’s entertainment there. But the chaperon, Mrs Price… that was a distinct possibility. She was no beauty, but she had such a lively expression, her eyes alight with interest whenever she talked, which was often. And a young widow, too. Yes, he could see potential in Mrs Price.
However, he was too wily to make directly for his prey. Before dinner, he made only a polite greeting when she entered the room, then Deirdre led her around the guests to be introduced and she settled herself beside the widower, Mr Cockcroft. That gentleman then led her into dinner and sat himself beside her, whereupon she chattered away amiably throughout the meal with every appearance of pleasure in his company.
When the ladies withdrew, the numbers were so unbalanced that there were only six gentlemen sharing the port, and the conversation was dominated by the neighbour, Mr Smythe-Hunter, and Mr Kingsley, talking about local matters. Leo amused himself by engaging the elderly widower in conversation, and obtaining his opinion of Mrs Price. He said nothing that Leo could not have predicted — that she was a charming young woman, most affable and good-natured, and would make an excellent chaperon for the Miss Kingsleys. It was tiresome, but in almost two hours in her company, the old gentleman had not discovered a single fact about her that Leo did not already know. He could say only that she was two and twenty years of age, had been married for three years and had buried her husband more than a year since, her present mourning being for her father.
And yet these plain facts raised so many questions in Leo’s mind. Why did a young lady of good family marry, as she must have done, at the age of eighteen? It was not for money, for she was now penniless. It was not for rank, since she had no title and if Mr Price had been a man of standing, no one seemed to know of it. If it had been a love match, she showed no signs of the excess of grief that might be expected. He could not account for it. Perhaps the husband had been a soldier, and they had married in haste before he left to take up a posting, from which he had not returned. In his absence, it may be that she had begun to realise her mistake, and was secretly thankful when news of his death reached her. Yes, that could be it, a very plausible—
“Audley! Are you attending, sir?”
“I beg your pardon, Kingsley. Were you addressing me?”
“I was. The others are going to rejoin the ladies, but I would be obliged to you for a few moments alone.”
Leo’s heart sank. It was bad enough being harangued by Sir Ruthven, but to be subjected to a telling off by his fusty brother-in-law was the outside of enough. Kingsley was almost old enough to be his father, too, which made it worse. He barely remembered his own father, but he had been an easy-going man, who would never have treated a recalcitrant son in this way. But Leo was not Kingsley’s son, he was a grown man with his own estate and independent fortune, and he resented being treated like a naughty schoolboy.
When the door had shut and they were alone, Kingsley said, “I suppose you are in trouble again, Audley? Forgive me if I overstep the mark, but experience has taught me to fear the worst when you turn up here unexpectedly, and I won’t have Augusta worried, d’ye hear?”
“Not in trouble, sir, just a little misunderstanding.”
“I can guess what sort of misunderstanding,” he said, peering at Leo through bushy eyebrows. “You should leave the women alone. Or marry. You are old enough to settle down now. Take back that estate of yours and set up your nursery, like a gentleman, instead of these sordid entanglements.”
“I am obliged to you for your advice, sir,” Leo said, with as even a tone as he could manage.
“And you are far too free with your money. A new carriage, I hear, and you always dress as fine as fivepence. That coat must have cost a pretty penny, I daresay.”
Leo could summon no polite response to this, so he held his tongue.
“And another thing,” Kingsley went on relentlessly. “You will kindly refrain from giving my wife presents of money. She receives an adequate allowance, and if you give her extra she will simply learn to live beyond her means and be dissatisfied.”
“I shall respect your wishes in the matter, naturally,” Leo said, “but she is always so grateful for the small sums I have bestowed on her in the past that I wonder whether her allowance is indeed adequate. She was never extravagant, so—”
“You are impudent, sir! My wife’s pin money is no concern of yours.”
“So I should normally consider,” Leo said smoothly, “but since you were so kind as to take an interest in my financial affairs, I naturally assumed that you would not object to a similar interest on my part. I humbly beg your pardon if I have mistaken you.”
For a moment, Kingsley went such a violent shade of purple that Leo thought he must surely explode. Then, gradually, he brought his
temper under control.
“Let us rejoin the ladies,” he said curtly.
“By all means,” Leo said affably, feeling that he had, perhaps, had the better of Kingsley on this occasion.
It did not surprise him that he was not invited to join Kingsley’s whist table. Instead, he played an enjoyable game of Commerce for fish with Gussie and the twins, together with an assortment of Smythe-Hunters and the clergyman’s wife and daughter. He was disappointed that Mrs Price chose to sit secluded with the elderly widower. Often during the game his eyes strayed to her face to find it alive with merriment, her head bent close to her companion, as she told some story or other. At that moment he rather envied Mr Cockcroft, the recipient of so much vivacity, quite wasted on a man of that age.
Gussie, too, was lively that night, as vibrant and filled with energy as she used to be, before marriage and the tragedies of life had overtaken her. Kingsley was such a dry old stick! Why had she married him? She could have stayed and kept house for Leo for as long as she wished, for he had never wanted her to leave, heaven knows. And even if she had felt the desire to marry and have her own establishment, she could have chosen better, someone more her own age, who would cherish her and treat her properly. He sighed. It was a mystery to him why anyone ever married.
Kingsley soon grew alarmed at his wife’s liveliness and dispatched her to bed. Meekly, she made her farewells and went. Leo followed her from the room.
“May I escort you upstairs, Gussie?”
“Oh, pray do, for I am not at all tired yet and would welcome your company. But Leo, you must not quarrel with Peter, and do not deny it, for I could see by his face after dinner that he was most displeased. But really, you must not.”
“No quarrel, I assure you, although we both managed to give offence, quite unintentionally. Gussie, I am very sorry, but he has forbidden me from giving you any more money, and I cannot go against his wishes, you know.”
She sighed heavily. They had gained the upper landing by this time and stood outside her door. “Do come in, Leo. Peter does not like me to take much wine of an evening, but I do like a glass before bed. It helps me to sleep. Will you sit with me a while?”
He agreed to it at once, his heart going out to his lively little sister, so submissive to her overbearing husband.
When they were settled in her boudoir, each with a glass of claret in hand, she said, “I was obliged to buy new pelisses for Deirdre and Winifred, and Peter noticed, unfortunately. He wanted to know how much they cost, and then he was angry that I had used my own pin money to clothe the girls, so I was forced to tell him that I had used the twenty five pounds you gave me last time you were here, and so he said he would deduct that amount from my pin money.”
“Good Lord, Gussie, you have to be properly dressed, and the girls too. When did you last have a new pelisse? Or a new gown, come to that, for the one you have on now you have been wearing for years.”
“Four years, to be exact, for it was a part of my wedding wardrobe, but for myself, I do not mind a bit. I can easily rework a gown or a bonnet. But the girls are still growing, and they must have suitable clothes for balls and dinner engagements now that they are out.”
“Well, of course they must.”
“Yes, but Peter does not understand about clothes. He buys himself a new coat and he expects it to last him for ten years. When it is quite worn out he will replace it. One must not spend more than one needs to on one’s appearance, he says. He cannot comprehend fashion, or how one’s acquaintances respect one more when one has new gowns. He simply does not see the point. He paid a great sum when the girls came out, he says, and that must last them until they marry.”
“Great heavens!” Leo said, appalled by this display of male ignorance. “If I had known how cheeseparing he was, I should never have agreed to let you marry him, Gussie.”
“Oh, but he is not, not really. Or at least, only in certain areas. He is very happy to entertain, although the cost of meat and candles and coal must be astronomical. He likes me to keep a good table.”
“There is no virtue in allowing his neighbours to eat the beef from his own farm and the game from his own coveys,” Leo said sharply. Then, grudgingly, he added, “But yes, he keeps a very good table, and the wine is excellent.” He held up his own glass. “He is hospitable, I cannot fault him there. But Gussie, your pin money should be more than adequate for as many new gowns as you desire, for I negotiated the amount myself, and Kingsley agreed to it without demur.”
Recalling that time, he remembered Kingsley’s eagerness to be wed, and his obvious affection for his young bride. Where had it gone to, that partiality that had made him so amenable? As to why, he could guess. Two lost babies could sour the sunniest temperament, and Kingsley had never been that. Yet their mutual tragedies had not brought husband and wife closer, as sometimes happened. Instead, it had driven them apart.
Gussie chewed a lip anxiously. “It should be enough, it is true. It is more than you gave me in Bath, but then you were always giving me extra for this and that, and if an unexpected bill arrived… But Peter is not like that. There is no extra to be had, and if I spend my allowance one quarter, then I must wait until the next quarter day to be in funds again. And… and do not be angry, Leo, and pray, pray do not say a word to Peter, for I do not want to upset him more than— Well, you know how he gets sometimes. But there is a very discreet establishment in town where one may enjoy some excellent play, and—”
“Faro! Are you back at the tables, Gussie? I had thought you were burnt enough last time. I hoped you would be safe here, at least. Shropshire is not noted for its gaming dens.”
She flushed, and lowered her eyes, twisting her hands. “So I thought, but after an evening at Sir Giles Mathom’s, where the play was quite deep, someone suggested a discreet little place in town that he knew of. I was very careful, at first, Leo, I swear. No more than fifty pounds or so, and sometimes I won, so it was not all bad. And it all seemed perfectly respectable, like that place I used to go to in Bath. But then after… well, when I was upset, the first time, I started going regularly, and dipping a bit deeper, and spending most of my allowance there. And after the second time—”
She put one hand over her mouth, and the tears poured unchecked down her cheeks. Leo wrapped a brotherly arm around her, and rocked her gently as she wept, and seethed inwardly at his foolish brother-in-law, who had more money than he could well spend and yet had no sympathy for his wife, who could find no other consolation for her lost babies than the gaming tables.
“Make me a list of everything you owe,” he murmured. She wept all the more at his kindness.
~~~~~
‘Dear Lucy I have arrived safely Margaret’
~~~~~
FEBRUARY
Lucy dressed with care for the Extons’ ball. Her current deep mourning precluded much ornamentation, but she had a black lace head-covering — it scarcely merited the term ‘cap’, it was so small — and her gown was in the first stare of fashion, having been overseen by the sure eye of Robin Dalton.
The twins wore matching silk gowns, very plain, and a row of pearls each, each head adorned with a single silver band and curled into the same style. If they had been identical twins, there would have been no telling them apart. Their excitement differed as much as their faces. Winifred practically bounced down the stairs, her fur-lined cloak streaming out behind her. Deirdre descended more elegantly, in small ladylike steps, one gloved hand delicately lifting the hem of her gown.
Mr Kingsley looked as he always did, with his usual burgundy coat over black knee breeches. It was Mr Audley who dazzled the company with a waistcoat embroidered with silver thread, cream silk knee breeches, embroidered stockings and a black coat of such a perfect fit that even Robin would not have disdained to wear it.
They were to travel in two carriages, Mr Kingsley, his daughters and Lucy in one, and Mr Audley in his own carriage, collecting the Miss Watfords on the way. Lucy did not envy him that
company! But perhaps Miss Watford was less forthright with a gentleman than she had been with Lucy. The journey was slow, for the roads were bad and there was little light, the moon being not yet full and also obscured by heavy cloud. Mercifully, it was also brief, for the Extons lived but three miles from Longmere Priory, and in no time they were turning in through the gates and proceeding up a drive lit as bright as day by dozens of torches. Inside the house was warm and there was hot punch to remove any lingering chill in new arrivals.
The ballroom was three large rooms with dividing doors thrown open, and they had arrived at precisely the right moment, for the musicians were warming up and there was that excitement in the air that always accompanied the opening of a ball. The empty space in the centre of the room held the promise of such enjoyment to come, and Deirdre and Winifred both looked around eagerly, weighing up possible partners with the practised eyes of a whole year in society.
“Where does your mama sit, as a rule?” Lucy asked, anxious to settle herself at an appropriate station for the evening. The girls made no reply, and almost at once they were surrounded by young men, the twins’ hands solicited with the utmost avidity. Had they wished to, they might have engaged themselves for every dance on the spot. They did not, however, merely accepting the hand of one of the crowd, with many blushes and giggles, and allowing themselves to be led onto the floor into the sets now forming.
The disappointed young men moved away to find other partners, and Mr Kingsley had been absorbed into a group of older men, so Lucy looked about for a familiar face, but there was no one she knew within view. There were seats all round the room for the matrons and chaperons and anyone not dancing, but many such ballrooms assigned different seats to certain ranks, and it would never do for Mrs Walter Price to rest her lowly posterior on a cushion reserved for peeresses or honourables.
The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2) Page 4
