Minerva

by M C Beaton

  ‘Yes,’ said the vicar, sipping his port, raising his bushy eyebrows, and downing the rest in a sudden gulp.

  ‘Ah, that’s good. Yes, I will have some more. Worry gives me a thirst. Yes, well, she’s been seen flirting with Guy Wentwater. Now, I’m a hot-blooded man and my first idea was to go around there and give him a horsewhipping.’

  The squire raised his hands in horror. ‘You cannot horse-whip a gentleman!’

  ‘He ain’t no gentleman.’

  ‘Now, you are becoming overheated. It was as well you came to me first. You have of course, for some reason, rejected the idea of talking to your daughter, which seems strange.’

  ‘Annabelle’s bored. There’s nothing more dangerous than a bored girl with a rich young man around. She’ll be off to Gretna if I put a spoke in her wheel. She don’t fancy him. Boredom’s what makes her fancy him. I put my oar in and she’ll fall in love with him.’

  ‘I trust you are not deliberately trying to upset me by telling me this?’ said the squire.

  ‘I wouldn’t for the world …’

  ‘No, of course not. I lost my daughter many years ago to a wastrel. She … Mary … was a very flighty girl. I was away from home a great deal and my wife spoiled her quite dreadfully. I found one time when I returned from my travels that she had become engaged to a highly unsuitable young man and I put a stop to it immediately. She told me she would run away with him so I locked her in her room. My wife — God rest her soul – thought the whole thing was too romantic for words. She helped Mary elope with this idiot. Well, they were married at Gretna, and finally came back south and settled in London. I refused to have anything to do with them. I sent Mary money because it appeared they were in dreadful straits. This fellow, Percy Fitzwilliam was his name, gambled to excess. Mary died in childbirth and this Fitzwilliam kept on trying to borrow money. I refused to see him or answer his letters. What happened to him, I do not know. It was many years ago, just before you took up the living. I am amazed you have not heard of this, Charles.’

  ‘People don’t gossip much to me,’ said the vicar. ‘You have to be interested when people gossip. I’m sorry to open old wounds, Jimmy.’

  ‘No, it is too long ago to hurt me now. But if I had handled it another way, had found a means to drive the young man away without letting Mary or my wife know, well, she might be alive today. That’s my advice, Charles. Go for Wentwater.’

  ‘And horse-whip him?’

  ‘No, no. You must find some way to frighten him, humiliate him. Let me think. Help yourself to more port, Charles.’

  The vicar did as he was bid. The sunlight dappled down through the leaves of the sycamore on the squire’s wrinkled face. His soft-footed servant placed another bottle on the table and silently withdrew.

  A little brook ran through the bottom of the garden to join the River Blyne, adding its soothing murmur to the sound of the wind in the leaves above the vicar’s head.

  He found himself wondering about Minerva’s lustful thoughts. Perhaps there was hope. Good girls like Minerva channelled these thoughts directly into marriage and childbearing. But Minerva would be apt to scourge them out of her system. Perhaps he should have told her that such thoughts were natural.

  The squire attracted his attention by giving a dry, little cough.

  ‘Tell me Charles,’ he said. ‘We know that foxes are vermin. If you heard of a fox in the countryside, what would you do?’

  ‘Why … hunt him down o’ course, hunt him down!’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the squire.

  The vicar looked at his friend in amazement, and then his little eyes began to twinkle, and he slapped his knee.

  ‘Gently, calmly,’ cautioned the squire. ‘We must lay plans …’

  ‘We must make plans,’ said Lady Godolphin. She and Minerva were sitting a little apart on the grass at a fête champêtre, held in a Surrey meadow by Lord Chumley.

  ‘Yes,’ said Minerva in a dreary little voice.

  ‘You have got him on the hook very nicely,’ said Lady Godolphin in an approving voice. ‘I really did not think you had it in you. Chumley is quite a catch.’

  ‘I don’t see anyone else exactly competing with me for his favours,’ pointed out Minerva.

  ‘Ah! That’s because they have all given up hope. You quite enchanted him at Almack’s opening ball. I had thought Comfrey might have interfered, but he was too taken up with that dashing widow, Jane Carstairs.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He is a steady fellow and you will become accustomed to his looks. Always marry a steady fellow. My first was not. Before two weeks were out, he was trying to get the marriage annulled on the grounds that it had not been consumed, but it had been, consumed right and tight down at Brighton. “No one will believe you anyway,” I told him, and he knew that to be true.’

  ‘I had hoped perhaps some other gentleman,’ said Minerva, ‘might be interested, and several quite charming gentlemen have come to call, but there are always these three friends of Lord Chumley’s there, or Mr Fresne and his friends, and they contrive to drive anyone else away. Even Lord Sylvester,’ she added in a small voice.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think anyone in the world could drive Comfrey away once he put his mind to it. But he don’t bother with young misses and never has. Just be grateful that his attentions brought you into fashion in a small way. You never sit out a dance now, and everyone knows Chumley held his party especially for you, for he’s normally so clutchfisted concerning anything not to do with the gambling table …’

  ‘And you would have me marry such a man? If he is not generous then how will it benefit my family?’

  ‘Oh, once you’re married, I’ll tell you how to get his claws off the money-bags. I’ve had years of practise.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ said Minerva wearily.

  She gloomily watched the approach of Lord Chumley. He looked more like a bad tempered sheep than ever. His fair hair was hidden under a small, tight, curly, white wig, and his yellow eyes were alight with anger.

  ‘I detest pushers – people who have not been invited and then invite themselves without so much as a by-your-leave. Comfrey comes riding in as cool as you please, says he was “just passing” and heard the music. I said it was a private party and he says, “Of course, I would not expect you to have any other kind”, takes a glass of champagne and wanders in to join my guests. I’ve a good mind to have my servants throw him out.’

  ‘You can’t,’ pointed out the worldly-wise Lady Godolphin. ‘He’s too fashionable.’

  ‘I don’t know why that should be,’ snapped Lord Chumley.

  ‘Ask his tailor,’ yawned her ladyship. ‘Has Colonel Brian arrived?’

  ‘He was not invited.’

  ‘This is a curst dull party,’ said Lady Godolphin. ‘I’m going to see if I can find someone amusing. You know the horriblest people, Chumley.’

  She hoisted herself to her feet and waddled off, leaving Lord Chumley to glare after her.

  Then he recollected his campaign, and eased himself down on the grass beside Minerva and smiled at her in a way that he was sure was absolutely killing.

  ‘I feel I am getting to know you very well, Miss Armitage.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Yes, I feel there is a bond between us.’ Lord Chumley took Minerva’s hand in his and Minerva forced herself not to draw her hand away. She knew her face was turning red with embarrassment and annoyance, and she knew equally that Lord Chumley would think she was blushing with maidenly confusion.

  ‘You know, I gave this party for you,’ murmured Lord Chumley, looking down at Minerva’s thick lashes, fanning over her flushed cheeks, and feeling quite tender towards her. He had formed a plot of his own. He would go ahead with the kidnapping to please the others and then when Minerva chose him, he would stun them all by taking her in his arms and asking her to marry him. He could see it all, feel her body, weak with relief, pressing against his own.

  ‘I feel,’ he said inching cl
oser to her, ‘that in order to know someone really well, it is a good thing to see a bit of their family background, meet their parents. Do you not agree?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ How hot the sun was, thought Minerva. If only she could escape. But she was going to marry him and, after that, there would be no escape.

  ‘And so, I would be honoured if you would accompany me to visit them … my parents, I mean.’

  Minerva looked around. How carefree everyone else seemed. People were talking and sitting or walking. A small orchestra was playing charming tunes beside a small lake. The wind moved lazily through the heavy summer leaves of the trees. Lady Godolphin was looking in her direction, a look which seemed to be saying ‘Get on with it.’

  And then Lord Sylvester passed at a little distance with a pretty woman on his arm. He was flirting with her, teasing her, looking down into her eyes with that heart-wrenching smile of his.

  ‘Yes. I’ll go with you,’ said Minerva. ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Lord Chumley, thinking furiously of all the arrangements he must make.

  ‘Then you will surely let Lady Godolphin know in any case,’ pointed out Minerva. ‘I could not go without her permission.’

  ‘Quite.’ Lord Chumley thought that somehow Lady Godolphin must not be told, but at that moment he couldn’t quite think how to arrange it. He must ask the arch-plotter, Silas Dubois.

  At that moment, one of his servants came up to report that it would be necessary to open up the reserves of champagne. The guests had drunk the first lot.

  ‘It can’t be possible,’ said Lord Chumley, crossly, looking at Minerva’s empty glass as if she were responsible for having consumed the lot. ‘Excuse me, my dear, but you see how it is. If things are to be done properly, I must handle everything myself.’

  His place was quickly taken by Sir Peter Yarwood who had hit on the idea of putting in a word on behalf of Mr Fresne.

  All three Dandies were as soberly dressed as churchmen. They had been invited because Mr Silas Dubois had pointed out they were no threat at all. Fresne was the only one who was not married, and Minerva showed no sign of favouring his suit, and so the three acted as a deterrent to any other hopeful suitor. Sir Peter was even more limp and drooping than ever, as if the heat of the day had taken the starch out of him. But he was, in fact, feeling quite noble. He had worn nothing but dull, sober clothes since Mr Fresne had told them of Minerva’s aversion to Dandies. And although he would have liked to cut a dash at the party, he felt exalted at the idea of wearing such dreadful garments in the name of friendship.

  In fact, the advent of Minerva had drawn the three conspirators so close that they had forgotten how savagely they used to compete and quarrel.

  ‘I have come on behalf of one who sighs for you,’ said Sir Peter languidly. ‘Pon rep, does he sigh!’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Minerva in a dull voice.

  ‘And he is not a Dandy, and we know how you despise the Dandies,’ said Sir Peter, waving a playful finger under Minerva’s nose and nearly cutting the tip with the end of his long drooping, mandarin-like nail.

  Lord Sylvester’s fair companion let out a rippling laugh of amusement and Minerva nearly ground her teeth.

  ‘I do not dislike Dandies,’ she said.

  ‘But you told Mr Fresne you despised them!’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Minerva with a shrug. ‘I thought you were all making a game of me so I said I didn’t like Dandies to see if you would all modify your dress accordingly. And you did. But it was wrong of me. I don’t really care what anyone wears, one way or t’other.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ gasped Sir Peter stumbling to his feet. ‘I feel unwell. The heat …’

  He tottered off. He did indeed feel unwell. Oh, buckram wadding and nipped-in waist, oh high-heeled splendid boots and gleaming spurs, oh, youth-giving rouge and paint; all, all sacrificed for some vicious, silly chit who was making a game of them all. Laughing at them. For days, they had dressed like crows. For days Bond Street had been devoid of the pleasure of seeing the magnificent trio on the strut. The pain was agonizing. They had gone to Almack’s opening ball dressed like country squires. Oh, agony! The fact that the three had been playing a trick on Minerva in the first place did not enter his tortured brain. And then somewhere in the depths of his agony, he savoured the dismay of his friends. Just wait till he told them!

  Minerva sat quietly by herself. She knew someone would soon join her if she did not move quickly, and she had a longing to be alone.

  She quickly arose to her feet and hurried away from the party until the chatter and music had faded behind her.

  There was a stand of trees at the water’s edge, on the other side of it, a small pebbly beach at the edge of the lake with one large flat stone. Minerva realized she could sit on the cool stone, be shielded from the rest of the party by the trees, and also from the sun by their shadow.

  She sat down on the rock and pulled off her pretty Lavinia bonnet and put it on the ground beside her. She rolled down her gloves and let the wind play over her bare arms. Minerva was wearing a white muslin gown with a Vandyked hem and Roman sandals of bronze kid. For the first few moments, she savoured the coolness, the sense of freedom, the beautiful isolation. And then a wave of depression swooped down on her.

  So many girls finished their Season without marrying. They were allowed to go home and try again the following year. But their families had money, and she had not.

  She could write to her father and beg him to take her home. A description of Lady Godolphin’s misconduct would surely be enough. Her father was not an ogre. But the boys would not get their schooling and her sisters would have no dowries and no future.

  Minerva was afraid that her moral standards were slipping badly. She felt she should be unable to look at Lady Godolphin without blushing but that old lady seemed quite unconcerned. Minerva often found herself thinking of kisses and strong arms holding her close until her body seemed to ache with longing. She tried to put Lord Chumley’s face onto her dream lover, but it kept fading to be replaced by a handsome face with a pair of mocking green eyes.

  ‘Dreaming of marriage?’

  Minerva looked up into the very pair of eyes she had been thinking about. Lord Sylvester smiled down at her. ‘I had a devil of a job finding you,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t ask anyone or they might have come looking for you themselves.’

  ‘Why do you seek my company now, my lord?’ said Minerva harshly. ‘You have not troubled yourself with me of late.’

  She thought of the opening ball at Almack’s and how she had dreamed of dancing with him and talking with him and how he had not even asked her to dance once.

  ‘Now, how do you know I have not been troubled?’

  He was carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He sat down beside her and leaned over and put the bottle in the water to keep it cool and balanced the two glasses on the inside of her bonnet which was lying on the ground.

  ‘You were supposed to have helped me in my debut,’ said Minerva, uncomfortably aware of his nearness. Her whole side that was next to him seemed to be tingling, as if every little cell were straining towards him. The calves of her legs trembled and she clasped her hands firmly in her lap.

  ‘But you were doing so well! Society is quite enchanted, although your court of seven seems to drive everyone away. Still, I see you have settled for Chumley.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What, what! I expected a heated denial. I had supposed you were encouraging Chumley’s attentions in order to make some of the other men jealous.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Such monosyllables. What would Lady Godolphin call a monosyllable? Probably a monosyllabub. She would consider it a description of a single helping of pudding.’

  ‘It is hard to understand her sometimes,’ said Minerva, staring out across the water, and fighting for calm. He must not know how much he disturbed her.

  ‘But,’ he continued, ‘if you are going to throw yourself aw
ay on Chumley, then I suppose I must allow you to do so. Such sacrifice! I hope your family appreciates it.’

  ‘Lord Chumley is very kind. Also, I must marry soon. There is my family to care for. Lady Godolphin also expects me to pay her back for the expense of this Season.’

  ‘Odso! One would not think anyone so generous with her ageing favours as Lady Godolphin would be so mercenary. She is very rich, you know. Are you sure you are not mistaken?’

  ‘No. She has made matters quite plain.’

  ‘And your father knew of this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He did not strike me as a cruel or insensitive man.’

  ‘He is a man,’ said Minerva wretchedly. ‘And that is why he thinks women will be happy enough with a home of their own and children. You consider our sex something of a joke yourself, my lord.’

  ‘I’ faith, you wrong me badly. I worship at your feet. I pursue you endlessly. I …’

  ‘You are very cynical. You treat me as a child.’

  ‘You are little more,’ he said gently. ‘You must realize, Minerva, that, yes, marriage to someone you do not love can be quite all right, but to someone kind and trustworthy who will respect your wishes. But do consider the intimacies of marriage with a man like Chumley.’

  ‘It is not a woman’s place to consider the intimacies of marriage,’ said Minerva. ‘That side of it is simply something that women have to endure. We do not have the same lusts and passions as men.’

  ‘No?’ His arms went around her, pulling her round and pressing her tightly against his chest. He began to kiss her face very lightly; small, teasing kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. She tried to summon all her will to repulse him, but her eyes looked up into his, wide and drowned, and her mouth trembled. He kissed her gently on the mouth then, made a slight movement as if to release her, muttered something and kissed her again … and again … and again, until, with something like a groan, he pressed his lips down savagely over her own, forcing her mouth apart, biting the inside of her lip, exploring, bruising, his caressing hands beginning to wander freely over her shaking body.