by Jane Ashford
“Oh, yes,” replied Elisabeth. “He seems so. But I was thinking the other night…that is, I am afraid he has been to a…a gaming house.”
Mr. Wincannon laughed. “I imagine he’s been to several by this time.” Elisabeth’s shocked expression appeared to amuse him. “My dear Miss Elham, all young men of fashion in London go at one time or another to Watier’s or one of the other reputable gambling houses. That doesn’t mean they become addicted to gaming. These are not hells where a green youth is fleeced, you know.”
“I know nothing about it,” she answered a little impatiently. “Is it also accepted practice for a young gentleman to drink too much and attempt to…to ‘mill someone down’ at a boxing parlor and stay out half the night doing heaven knows what?”
Her companion nodded. “Young Tony is simply trying his wings. You have nothing to be concerned about.” Seeing that she didn’t look particularly reassured, he continued, “I’ll tell you if he gives you cause for worry. Will that satisfy you?”
Elisabeth brightened. “Oh, it would make me feel immeasurably better to know that you are overseeing him. I know I’m taking monstrous advantage of your kindness. But I have no one else to consult, you see.” She hesitated for a moment. “And somehow, I feel that you’re exactly the sort of man…that is, I believe that you can be trusted to…” She foundered to a stop. “I do thank you for taking the trouble to help me.”
“It’s a pleasure,” he said. His eyes were dancing, but his smile was warm. “I can think of few things I’d rather do.”
Elisabeth almost thought he meant to take her hand. She moved toward the stairs a bit nervously. “Thank you,” she said again.
He bowed slightly. “I shall call again to take you driving. I hope to be more fortunate in finding you in. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” answered Elisabeth. He went out the door, but she stood motionless on the first stair for some time, her expression unsettled. There was a slight frown showing about her eyes, but a smile played across the corners of her mouth. Finally, she shook her head slightly and turned to go back to the drawing room.
The next morning, Elisabeth set out to call on Jane Taunton. Warned that Jane lived “quite out of the world” in lodgings in Kensington, Elisabeth was prepared to find herself in an unfashionable neighborhood, but looking around Jane’s two cramped and shabby rooms, she was a little shocked. Clearly, Jane had not yet succeeded in making her own way as a writer.
The parlor was set up as a study, with tall bookshelves covering most of the walls. They were crammed with books, piles of which overflowed onto the worn carpet. Two long windows looked out onto some straggling flower beds, and Jane sat at a large but tidy desk in front of one of them. She wore an old gown of pale green, which did not become her, and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. These she removed when Elisabeth came in, rising to greet her with a mixture of gladness and unease. She indicated an armchair near the desk, and Elisabeth sat down facing her.
“How comfortable this is,” said Elisabeth kindly. “I wish I had made myself such a room.” She surveyed the amber curtains, noticing a large gray cat on the windowsill, who returned her scrutiny from under lowered lids. “I haven’t nearly so many books, of course.” She smiled. “You look very much at home here.”
“I am,” answered Jane. “You needn’t praise it overmuch. I know it isn’t smart or conventional, but it’s worth living so to maintain my freedom.” She looked around. “I am most often happy here.”
“I’m certain you are,” replied Elisabeth, trying to show that she meant it. Jane’s tone had been both defensive and a bit embarrassed. She looked over the books nearest her on the shelves. “Pope, Dryden, Shakespeare. You have an enviable collection. But don’t you read the modern poets?”
“Oh, yes,” said Jane. “They are there.” She pointed to another shelf.
“Ah. Cowper, Scott, even Byron. Yes, I see. Which is your favorite?”
Jane smiled. “Actually, I’m much taken with two other modern poets. I was rereading this when you came in. Do you know it?” She held up a slim leather-bound volume.
Elisabeth read the title on the spine. “Lyrical Ballads. No, I haven’t heard of it. Is it very new?”
“It’s been out more than fifteen years. Relatively new, I suppose.” Her tone became didactic. “Mr. Wordsworth and Mr. Coleridge are trying to do something quite fresh. They wish to bring poetry closer to the common man’s experience and also infuse a sort of mystery into it.”
Elisabeth frowned. “That seems a contradiction to me. Pardon me, I know nothing about it, of course.”
“No,” responded Jane eagerly. “You’ve hit upon a very important point. It is very difficult to do. But there is a sort of mystery, I think, that has nothing to do with the intellect. To put it into words, that’s the thing.” She clenched a fist and looked off through the window.
“Do these two succeed?” asked Elisabeth.
“What? Oh, it’s hard to say. Some of the poems I like very much, but others are failures, I think.” She paused and smiled again. “You mustn’t allow me to run on about my particular hobbyhorse.”
“You weren’t. And I’m very interested. I was a teacher of literature for several years, you know.”
“I didn’t.” Jane looked interested. “I’ve thought of teaching myself.”
Elisabeth made a wry face. “You wouldn’t like it. The students are rarely interested in literature. In fact, most see it as a form of punishment from which they will be released only upon achieving a certain age.”
Jane laughed. “A lowering reflection. I was always fascinated by what I read.”
“You must have been a model pupil.”
“Oh, no, you should talk with my old governess. She thought me quite hopeless. I was incapable of learning geography or arithmetic, and I only endured languages because they allowed me to read more works of fiction. She finally gave up in despair.”
Elisabeth laughed. “I was nearly the same, though I doubt my dedication to my studies was so strong.” She looked up at the shelves again. “Are you fond of Byron? I have read only a little myself. Miss Creedy, the mistress of the school where I was, didn’t approve of him, so it was difficult to keep a copy about.”
“I’m not really,” said the other girl, “though I know it’s an unfashionable attitude. I find him affected.” She shrugged. “But perhaps I’m too much influenced by his absurd antics about town. I’m not a good judge of living writers, I fear. It may be that I envy them too much to see their value.”
“Oh, dear,” replied Elisabeth, “I suppose then you wouldn’t like to hear about a Byronic hero I’ve discovered among my acquaintance.”
Jane raised her eyebrows and laughed. “Another? I’d have thought that one Lord Byron was enough for any society.”
Elisabeth frowned. “Well, actually, Mr. Jarrett isn’t much like Lord Byron. His manners are a bit abrupt, but I can’t see him sitting down to vinegar and potatoes for dinner, as Lord Byron is said to do. But he appears to have a mysterious past, full of unnamed crimes.”
Jane leaned back in her chair. “Jarrett,” she repeated meditatively. “The name is not familiar.”
Elisabeth described the incident she’d witnessed the day before. “So you see,” she finished, “he’s haunted by a broken heart.”
“It does indeed fit,” agreed Jane. “A spotted past, an irate pursuer, a stoic exterior, the romantic West Indies. It might be out of The Corsair. Have you seen this Mr. Jarrett since you observed this?”
Elisabeth shook her head. “He’s only a distant acquaintance. I’ve talked to him just once, really.”
“We must find out more about him,” said Jane.
“Do you think so? It was my first wish, I admit.”
“Oh, there’s no question. One cannot leave such a mystery unsolved. I shall make some inquiries. I have certain rather unc
onventional friends, shall we say.”
“He is not much known in London, however,” put in Elisabeth.
“Nonetheless.” Jane smiled mischievously.
“Ah. Well, I wouldn’t want to cause him any trouble.”
“I’m not a gudgeon. I will be most circumspect. It will remain our conspiracy.” Jane smiled.
Elisabeth returned her smile. “I admit I’m curious.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Oh, I must go. I promised Belinda I’d help her with some sewing this afternoon. She’s making a gown for the duchess’s ball, and she’s nearly frantic over it.”
“Ah,” replied Jane, rising. “You may see me there, after all. The duchess is very insistent. She refuses to give up the idea that I may yet marry and cease to worry my mother by living in such a scandalous way.”
Elisabeth smiled. “I’ll be glad to see you.”
“Well, since there will be someone sensible to talk to, I may give in.” Elisabeth started toward the door. “Wait a moment,” continued Jane. She walked over to one of the farther shelves and pulled out three slender volumes. “Here’s something you might like,” she said, holding them out to Elisabeth. “You seem to be fond of the modern writers, and this is scarcely two years old.”
Elisabeth took it. “Pride and Prejudice,” she read. “What is it? A volume of essays?”
“It’s a novel. And a most unusual one, at that. It reminds me much more of Rasselas than of the silly works popular today. Try it and tell me what you think. By the by, the heroines are namesakes of ours.”
“I shall,” replied Elisabeth, tucking it under her arm. “Thank you.”
Jane escorted her to the stairs. “I am glad you came,” she said. “I see very few people. By choice, you understand. But you’re welcome to call again. I enjoyed our talk.” She smiled wryly. “Something I seldom say, I should tell you.”
“Thank you. I enjoyed it also. I will certainly come again soon.” She paused in the doorway. “Oh, dear, you were to show me some of your poetry; I quite forgot to ask.”
Jane flushed. “It’s not terribly good, you know.”
“Indeed I do not. I’m eager to read it. But it must wait until another time now. I’m sorry.”
Eleven
Elisabeth began her new book immediately and found it delightful. But continual interruptions soon made her wonder if she’d ever finish. Three mornings after her visit to Jane Taunton, she was sitting in the drawing room with a volume open before her. She expected no one and had settled down confidently when Ames entered the room and handed her a card.
“Lady Darnell,” Elisabeth read. “Oh, dear. Lachrymose.”
“I beg your pardon, miss?”
“What? Oh, never mind, Ames.” She frowned at the card. “I suppose I must see her.”
When Lady Darnell came in, Elisabeth surveyed her with some surprise. She didn’t know exactly what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this slender, willowy lady dressed in fluttering draperies. “How do you do,” she said. “It’s kind of you to call. Please come and sit down.”
Lady Darnell opened her very pale blue eyes even wider and gathered her diaphanous shawl closely about her shoulders. “Oh, you are very beautiful,” she cried. “James told me so, but I longed to see for myself.”
A bit nonplussed, Elisabeth smiled. “Thank you. But I’m afraid he exaggerated if he said that. Do sit down, won’t you?”
Lady Darnell made no move to do so. Rather, she put one beringed hand to her forehead, neatly avoiding any disarrangement of the blond curls clustered there. “You are beautiful,” she said, with a hint of petulance in her voice. “I won’t have you criticizing yourself.”
Elisabeth’s eyes began to twinkle.
“Oh, how happy I am to meet you at last,” said her guest as she sank down on the sofa. “James talks of nothing else. He is utterly bouleversé, you know.”
“Ah,” said Elisabeth. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“Oh, no. I never take anything at this time of the morning. My health is rather delicate, you see, and I must take great care.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Elisabeth.
“Yes,” answered her guest airily. “It’s a great trial to me. It comes from my mother; she was excessively sickly. I daresay she hardly enjoyed four well days a month after my youngest sister was born.” Lady Darnell seemed to take a certain satisfaction in this fact.
“How…how unfortunate.” Elisabeth cleared her throat. “We all enjoyed our outing to Vauxhall Gardens with your son last week. I am sorry my cousin Lavinia is away from home. I know she’d like to meet you.”
Lady Darnell murmured a polite rejoinder. “This is a lovely room,” she continued. “Have you refurnished it lately?”
“When I moved into the house, yes. My uncle left a great deal to be done.”
“A great deal,” echoed her visitor absently. “Those curtains are very fine velvet. I daresay they were frightfully expensive.”
“Why, yes, I believe they were.” Elisabeth might have been offended had she not been so amused by her companion’s expression. Greed, envy, and acquisitiveness were about equally mixed with desperate hope on her face.
Lady Darnell seemed to recall herself. “I’m so fond of blue,” she said.
“A lovely color,” agreed Elisabeth. A short silence fell, during which it seemed to Elisabeth that her guest was totting up the value of every object in the drawing room.
“I hope you will come to dinner,” said Lady Darnell at last, with great difficulty tearing her eyes from the Chinese vase on the mantel. “I should so like you to meet my daughters.”
“You’re very kind. You have more than one daughter, then?”
Lady Darnell gave a high laugh. “Oh, lud, yes. I have three daughters. Is it not diverting? Though everyone says we look more like sisters.”
“I’m sure you do,” answered Elisabeth obediently. “When you came in, I could hardly believe you were of an age to be Lord Darnell’s mother.” She consoled herself with the fact that this statement was absolutely true.
Lady Darnell preened a bit. “Oh, you are too kind. I must reconcile myself to advancing age now that James is old enough to set up his own household.” Here she gave Elisabeth a sharp glance. “And my second daughter is ready to come out.”
Elisabeth was finding this conversation difficult. “One of your daughters is out, then?” she asked. “What is her name? Perhaps I’ve met her.”
“Aurelia is my oldest. She has been eighteen these six months, but she is only just out. She has not gone about much as yet.” Privately, Elisabeth wondered whether they lacked the money to bring her out properly. “Then Portia is seventeen. She is only too eager to leave the schoolroom also. And Augusta is fifteen, though anyone would take her for a year older, as I tell her.”
“What, uh, splendid names you’ve given them.”
Lady Darnell looked pleased. “Are they not? I prefer the old Roman names. They have such a solid sound.”
“Umm,” replied Elisabeth. “Well, I shall hope to meet them one day.”
“Perhaps you can come to dinner on Thursday next?”
“I’ll have to ask my cousins if they’re free,” said the girl, looking for a way to avoid this invitation.
Lady Darnell pouted. “Oh, I’d so hoped you would come alone, just a quiet family party, you know. Are you already engaged for Thursday evening?”
“No,” said Elisabeth. “That is, I am not precisely certain…”
“Wonderful,” interrupted Lord Darnell’s mother. “You may bring your maid with you, of course, and I’m sure James will be happy to escort you home. We shall expect you at seven.”
“But, I…” began Elisabeth.
“No need to worry, my dear,” continued Lady Darnell airily. “It will be quite informal. And now I must go. I promised Aureli
a I would go shopping with her today. She is utterly dependent on my judgment in matters of dress, you see.” Lady Darnell rose with these words and drifted toward the door. Elisabeth could see no way of evading her invitation, short of outright rudeness, so she accepted the inevitable with as much grace as she could muster.
Elisabeth returned to her book, but her enjoyment of it was broken. She spent some minutes going over the conversation just past, trying to determine how she could have managed it better, but no amount of thinking gave her the answer. Lady Darnell had been an irresistible force. Still, Elisabeth was annoyed with herself. “Stupid,” she said aloud. “You certainly made a mull of that.”
“What have you made a mull of?” asked an amused voice from the doorway behind her, and Elisabeth turned quickly to see Derek Wincannon standing there.
“I told Ames I would come straight up, since I’m a few minutes late, and I thought you might have given me up.” He raised his eyebrows at Elisabeth’s uncomprehending expression. “We had fixed today to go driving, had we not?”
“Oh, dear, I’d completely forgotten. How bird-witted I am today.”
Mr. Wincannon smiled wryly. Though he’d never spent much time with young ladies of the ton, the few such engagements he’d made had been treated with flattering enthusiasm. He was not accustomed to having his attentions ignored or his appointments forgotten. This was part of his fascination with Elisabeth, he did not doubt. Her unconscious originality, which made her unlike any woman he had met hitherto, compelled his interest and dispelled his customary boredom. But these welcome sensations were accompanied by a good deal of unease and chagrin. Had she any interest in him except as a preceptor for young Tony? His smile twisted further. “You are not a flatterer, are you, Miss Elham?” he said.
“I beg pardon?”
“Nothing. Are you occupied then? Shall we have to put off our expedition once again?”
