by Joan Aiken
During the ride home, a prickly silence prevailed in the carriage. Next morning the hall of the house in Berkeley Square was half filled with bouquets; a stack of cards and invitations had arrived for Miss Paget. Lady Lambourn, by now apprised, through several notes from dear friends, of her niece’s sudden fame, took Juliana most severely to task over the whole affair.
“I was never in my life so mortified! Reckless, foolish girl! To have traveled in an air balloon at all is bad enough—a wholly capricious, unladylike thing to do!—but to have done it with Count van Welcker, of all people! A most notorious rake! One of the Prince’s associates! Nothing could be more unfortunate. I daresay your uncle may feel that, having compromised you to such a degree, van Welcker should make an offer for you and what kind of a match would that be?”
“Why should he do any such thing?” exclaimed Juliana. “Besides, he has not compromised me in the least. My father was present throughout—what better protection could I have?”
“Your father—tush! And why, in heaven’s name,” said Lady Lambourn, changing to another tack, “why, when fortunately nobody knew about it, could you be so disastrously foolish as to make public the whole history?”
Juliana felt herself ill used.
“I would never have spoken of it, I assure you, ma’am. But what could I do if Herr—I mean, Count van Welcker—himself told the tale to Lady Jersey?”
“We shall be the talk of the town,” said Lady Lambourn, wringing her hands. “What your uncle will say, I shudder to contemplate.”
The front doorbell rang, and Fitton came to say that Count van Welcker was below, inquiring as to whether he might take Miss Paget driving in the park.
“Tell him, certainly not!” said Lady Lambourn sharply to Fitton. “You may say that my niece is not going out today.” And to Juliana, she said, “You had best remain indoors, miss, and not show your face abroad until this undesirable commotion has died down. Good God, what will Sir Groby say to it all?”
Juliana had not the slightest wish to speculate upon what Sir Groby might say. Regretting the lost excursion with Count van Welcker, she retired, as bidden, to her room, where she spent the morning in the occupation of altering a dark-blue velvet riding habit that Miss Ardingly had given her. One breadth was very worn, but as it was by far too large around the waist, that was easily remedied by taking it in.
Then Kitty arrived, carrying a walking dress of striped poplin.
“Cousin Juliana, I hope you ain’t too high in the boughs now to help me mend this robe? There’s something amiss about the bodice—it has never sat on me as it should, and I depend on you to set it to rights, for Fan and I mean to go walking in Kensington Gardens at noon with the Ellesmeres. The boys wished for you to come too, but Ma says you must keep your chamber,” she added without visible signs of regret.
“You will have to put the dress on,” Juliana said, “or I can’t see what is amiss.”
“Oh, Lord, must I? Very well,” exclaimed Kitty, yawning, and dragging her other gown, a loose morning robe, over her head.
While Juliana unstitched, and pinned, and turned Kitty this way and that, the latter, after yawning some more and gazing vacantly about the room for a while, said, “Shall I tell you a secret, coz?”
“Not if it is no concern of mine,” replied Juliana.
“Ay, but it is! I’ll tell you, for it is a prime joke. Sir Groby means to have you, after all, in spite of the prank you played on him the other night. Mr. Throgmorton, his man-of-business, sent Pa a note about a marriage contract. Indeed, I believe he offers for you out of spite, for he was vexed beyond anything at your giving him the slip! He was downstairs, half an hour ago, talking with Ma in the breakfast parlor; I happened to be passing the door, which was not fully closed, and I heard her say, ‘My niece shall have you, Sir Groby, if I have to discipline her on bread and water, and I am only sorry she is so contumacious and ungrateful.’ And he said, with that nasty, spiteful laugh he has, ‘Why, pray don’t regard it, ma’am. I like a little spirit in a chit; it only makes it the more amusing to break ’em to bridle…’ Why, cousin! Mind what you are about! You stuck a great pin right into my back!”
“But why in heaven’s name should your mother encourage this odious man?” demanded Juliana, when, with shaking hands, she had removed the pin.
“Oh, I can easily tell you that,” replied Kitty blithely. “Ma owes Sir Groby a monstrous deal in gaming debts—I believe it is as much as four or five thousand pounds. She does not dare let my father know about it, but Partridge told Fan and me, for Ma was wondering if she dared sell some of her jewels—only, if Pa found out about that, she would never hear the last of it. I daresay Sir Groby had promised to let her off the debt if he marries you.”
“Oh! How wicked!” gasped Juliana. “How can she strike such a shameful bargain?”
“Lord, what’s wrong with it?” said Kitty, staring. “She has her debts settled and you off her hands—Sir Groby has a smart young wife, which the old goat fancies will add to his consequence—you get a rich husband. Why, many girls would give their ears for such a match! Good heavens, cousin, ain’t you finished yet? You have been poking and stitching this age, I do declare!”
“There—it is done—look at yourself in the glass,” said Juliana rather hastily, and Kitty, after looking and declaring with approbation that she was now as smart as sevenpence, danced out of the room with her other robe on her arm, leaving Juliana a prey to the most dismal reflections.
That her aunt was a silly, lazy woman, Juliana had long understood—that she could be so venal, and completely, callously indifferent to the thought of her niece’s inevitable misery as the wife of Sir Groby came as no particular surprise. What recourse did Juliana have? She could write to her grandfather—but supposing he took her aunt’s part? Suppose he considered Sir Groby a suitable match? Living secluded in Hampshire, wholly remote from town gossip, as he did, he might not know Sir Groby’s evil reputation. Or perhaps, thought Juliana wretchedly, he might not care; he might not regard it, in his anxiety to get his tiresome grandchild settled and off his hands.
If only I could run away! she thought despairingly. But where should I go? If I went back to Grandfather, he would not be at all pleased to see me. Furthermore, she recollected that she had hardly any money left; and she thought with regret and impatience of her grandfather’s fifty pounds, disbursed on dress lengths and trimmings, besides some absolutely necessary shoes, stockings, and underwear. As she had brought to England only the clothes she stood up in, her wardrobe was sadly deficient even by the meanest standards. She still must make do with her shabby old pelisse, both for morning and evening wear, and she had only two guineas remaining in her purse, which would not get her to Flintwood, she knew, for the fare from London to Winchester on the common stage was one pound and sixteen shillings, and from Winchester she would have to hire a chaise.
What was to be done?
She had reached no conclusion when she was summoned downstairs for another interview with her aunt.
Lady Lambourn, like many lazy people, could only exert authority when she had put herself into a rage, which she had now done.
“Listen to me, miss. I want no nonsense or missishness from you, no more heedless folly! You are a very lucky girl, let me tell you—considering the gossip that must now be spreading about you, very lucky indeed! Sir Groby has this day made your uncle a formal offer for your hand, which I have accepted on your behalf.”
“Then, madam,” cried Juliana desperately, “I fear you must reverse your answer, and decline it again, for I will not have him. I will never have him!”
“Insolent, ungrateful girl! You will accept him if I have to drag you to the altar. Sir Groby has behaved in the most magnanimous way possible—he is prepared to ignore the imprudence of your behavior in riding with Count van Welcker in his air balloon; he is prepared to turn a deaf ear to the scandal
ous stories going round town; he is prepared to overlook the undesirable connection with your scandalous mother—indeed, he has very obligingly saved your uncle the task of warning your mother to leave the country—”
“What? He has warned my mother?” gasped Juliana, overcome with amazement. “Do you, then, mean to tell me, madam, that my mother is in this country, and I never knew it? Suppose I wished to see her?”
“Good heavens, child, are you quite out of your senses? See her? I should think not, indeed! To be acquainted with her would be to damn your chances entirely. I trust by this time she has taken heed of Sir Groby’s warning, and quitted these shores.”
“But why? Why should she leave? What has she done?”
“Why should she leave? Because if she remained she might be cast into prison, miss! Now, let me hear no more on this head, but prepare yourself to receive Sir Groby’s addresses with a proper complaisance,” cried Lady Lambourn, who was by now worked into a high degree of irritation. “Tonight he takes us to Ranelagh, and I wish you to be as pretty-behaved as possible.”
“I make no promises, ma’am,” declared Juliana, and ran from the room.
She went directly to Miss Ardingly and asked for her help and intercession, but this proved wholly unavailing.
“Lord, child, what could I do?” said that lady. “You ain’t my niece, after all, and I am but a cipher in this house—of no consequence, save as a convenience. But why make such a coil? It is nothing new, after all, for young ladies to have advantageous matches arranged by their friends—it happens every day of the week. I fear you will just have to make the best of it.”
“But he is odious, ma’am—and—and diseased, and wicked!” cried Juliana, utterly cast down by these words of cold cheer. “Could I not appeal to my mother? Do you not know where she is to be found?”
“Your mother, child—what put that maggot into your head? How did you know she was even in England, pray?”
“Sir Groby has seen her, my aunt said.”
“Has he, indeed?” said Miss Ardingly, inquisitively. “I wonder how that came about? But, no, child, an appeal to Laura Paget—or whatever name she goes under now—would be quite useless, would only do you grave disservice; bless you, she would never help you, she never lifted a finger to serve a soul but herself; and association with her could do you nothing but harm.”
Discouraged, Juliana went away to her own chamber. She meditated an appeal to Lord Lambourn; strict, he was, but he was also very respectable; could he really know what kind of a man had offered for his niece? Unfortunately he was hardly ever to be found at home, dividing his time between White’s Club and the House of Lords. And even if she had managed to obtain an interview with him, she had little expectation of winning his sympathy: his opinion of his wife and daughters, and, consequently, of the whole female tribe, appeared to be a mixture of boredom and contempt.
Juliana dressed for the party to Ranelagh in the most dejected frame of mind. She put on a rather old-fashioned black silk sack dress, draped at the back, with a full skirt, dropped shoulders and gold-embroidered sleeves, which Lady Lambourn had worn in mourning for some bygone aunt, and had long since discarded as being quite out of the mode. What does it matter how I look? thought Juliana dismally. Indeed, it would be better if I looked a fright, only to discourage that old monster. In fact, the draped elegant lines of the dress charmingly set off her long neck, gold-brown hair piled high, and small piquant face. But she was in no mood to study her glass.
During the carriage ride to Ranelagh she formed various wild resolutions for escape—she would run away from her party and appeal to some benevolent-looking stranger; she would write a beseeching letter to Lady Jersey asking for her intercession; she would slip out next day to one of the milliners patronized by Lady Lambourn and ask if she might take a position as a seamstress. But she feared that Lady Jersey would never take her part against her aunt, and she knew the latter project would be ineligible, since she had no money to pay for apprenticeship indemnities. There seemed no way out of her predicament.
Arrived at Ranelagh, she had little enthusiasm for the beauty and magnificence of the rooms, the brilliancy of the lights, or the fantastic decorations which made the whole place appear like some enchanted palace from a fairy tale. Sir Groby was waiting for them, looking, in his pale-green satin evening dress, even more like the ogre of the fairy tale. He greeted them with suave civility; Juliana received a particular greeting, a smile that combined triumph with malice. He had already procured a box for them—as the arched recesses were called, where parties sat to partake of refreshments. Lady Lambourn and the twins were all delight at the thin-shaved ham, the rack punch, ratafia, jellies, creams, and confections of fruit and sugar that were brought to their table. Juliana ate but little.
When they had finished eating they listened to a concert, and Sir Groby contrived to sit beside Juliana, squeeze her arm in a pinching, vise-like grip, and murmur in her ear, “My lovely little charmer, I am the happiest man in London, for your aunt has informed me that she has persuaded you to listen to my addresses with indulgence.”
“I fear, sir, that my aunt has misled you,” replied Juliana, “for I will never, never do so!”
He cast her a glance whose malignity terrified her, and, gripping her wrist so tightly that she cried out, murmured, still in the same undertone, “Ah, but I think I may be able to make you change your mind, my pretty one.”
Juliana shuddered, and, turning her head away so as not to see his loathsome countenance, to her astonishment caught sight of a friendly face: in the crowd of persons at the end of the row, standing because they had been unable to procure seats, she observed the handsome figure of Captain Davenport. He had been looking in her direction—his eyes met hers—and she found in them a look of such grave compassion, such true sympathy, that her heart swelled within her.
Oh, what a difference it makes, she thought, to encounter just one person who might feel for me in my plight. That gives me courage! Now I feel that I shall be able to take a firm stand against Sir Groby and my aunt.
When the music was finished, she looked about again for Captain Davenport, but he was nowhere to be seen. Sir Groby hurried his party out into the gardens, for a spectacle of fireworks was now preparing, and they must hasten to secure good places. The gardens, at this season of early spring, had but little to show by daylight; however, by night they appeared bewitched, with garlands of lamps hung between the trees; there were pools, fountains, and cascades illuminated by colored lights, and the trees and shrubs were festooned with artificial flowers. The fireworks, too, were prodigiously handsome, depicting in lights the tale of Cupid and Psyche; but Juliana had little attention to spare for these wonders. She was too uneasy, for Sir Groby, keeping a tight clutch on her arm, was all the time insensibly drawing her farther and farther away from Lady Lambourn and the girls. She tried to detach her arm from his grasp, but without the least success; at all her efforts he only chuckled maliciously and grasped her the tighter.
Then, at the climax of the fireworks display, there suddenly came a tremendous clap of sound, and a flash of fire; taking advantage of the screams, shouts, and general alarm and commotion occasioned by this unexpected explosion, Sir Groby fairly dragged Juliana away from the crowd, and hustled her off into a dark alley between high hedges.
“Now, my charmer,” he said, “that accident has given me just the chance I was looking for; now is the time for you to give me your answer; and I should warn you that I am an ill man to flout! But your aunt promised me that she would persuade you, and so I am prepared to believe that your previous rejoinders were merely pieces of maidenly coyness. I am assured that I need have no real apprehensions. Come, tell me, is it to be yes?”
“No, Sir Groby,” Juliana answered with tolerable firmness, though her teeth were chattering from fear, from pain as he drove his nails into her wrist, and from the chill night air. “I ha
ve to tell you that I would not marry you if you were the last man left alive! And however many times you ask me, my answer will still be no, unalterably no!”
She could guess the intensity of his rage from the hissing breath he drew; in the dim light from a distant lamp she could see his lips draw back from his teeth. He ground out a savage oath, and then muttered, “On your own head be it, then, girl!—for I warn you, if I can’t have you by fair means, I shall have you anyway—I’d just as soon—and then you and that precious aunt of yours may weep and pray to no avail!”
So saying, he pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew on it shrilly; then he began dragging Juliana as fast as he could toward the end of the hedged alleyway, where there appeared to be a gate leading out onto an unfrequented street. Now Juliana was truly terrified, for she thought she could see a carriage waiting beyond the gate; she struggled desperately, she attempted to shriek, but a second man, appearing beside her, clapped his hand over her mouth and silenced her.
“Tie her hands,” said Sir Groby. “Have you a bag to put over her head?”
“Ay, sir.”
Juliana had given herself up for lost, when a loud voice exclaimed, “Leave that young lady alone, you villains! Let her be! Unhand her, or, by all that’s sacred, I’ll dash your brains out!”
