“No, but I own I wish I had not quite so many.”
“I rather like your faults – they make you a touch approachable. I hope we are still friends?”
Cassie, kicking off the suffocating quilt and stretching her toes out longingly towards the cold air in her chamber, thought that that remark of the Count’s had been particularly revelatory so far as she was concerned. He had seemed so very stiff and proper that, while she had determined never to deceive another as long as she lived – in spite of having laid claim to a spurious dead husband as well as a false name – she had feared telling him the truth.
It was his own gnawing sense of guilt regarding his dead wife which had brought them to a closer understanding. She did not think she had ever met anyone whose self-judgment was quite so harsh, except perhaps herself; nor had she ever met a person so prepared to admit to so many faults in one evening.
Waking late the following morning after her disturbed night, Cassie found herself worrying that she would receive a note recalling some pressing engagement which would make it impossible for the Count and his son to come for their English conversation practice that afternoon.
She ploughed through her lesson with Fraülein Brunner, half listening for the sound of the doorbell, which would, she was certain, herald a note from the Count. But none came and her young teacher, beginning to pack up their books, observed, “I should not think you will need me much longer, Gnädige Frau; your German has improved by leaps and bounds. We do not, of course, engage in much conversation but perhaps you have begun to speak to more people outside. Have you seen Count von Krems recently?”
“Yes; we meet for conversation from time to time,” Cassie admitted, flushing uncomfortably.
“That is good,” the teacher said heavily. “Practice will undoubtedly improve your competence – and perhaps you have done better without my intervention.”
“Yes,” Cassie said, touched by the young woman’s modesty. “I believe that our muddling along by ourselves has enabled us to cobble together extremely simple conversations. I think we tried to speak in too complicated a manner – to run before we could walk, so to speak – when we were able to rely upon you to translate for us.”
Fraülein Brunner conceded the truth of this with a stiff smile.
Cassie reflected that, if the young Austrian had been present the previous evening, it was unlikely that either she or the Count would have shared their past or anything involving sentiments. Their skill in each other’s language had undoubtedly improved but their ability to communicate arose from their failure to persist in either at a deeper level. Much as they wanted to acquire fluency, they wished more to form a connexion and had found a means to do so.
It was a long time since Cassie had spoken French – she had done so during the several years when she had been the plaything of a succession of French noblemen – and at first she had not wanted to speak a language which she had feared would be forever connected to this miserable period in her life. But she soon found, from those first hesitant attempts to communicate more profoundly with Count von Krems, that the original circumstances soon faded into insignificance; indeed, the fact that it was a foreign – although deeply familiar – language for both had put them on a more even footing.
Chapter 24
Honoria longed to ask why the Countess made these long trips backwards and forwards between a small territory in central Europe and England but there was something about her companion which made it impossible to ask such an intimate question. Candid and open as the older lady seemed, there was yet a certain mystery which hung about her and which was quite as much concealed as revealed by her forthright manner.
“You are no doubt wondering not only why I am so attached to this small, unstable region but also how I have been able to continue to visit it in spite of the constant battles across much of the ground we have – and are still – traversing,” she said one day, making Honoria wonder if, in addition to all her other talents, she was able to read people’s minds.
“Yes; but it would be presumptuous of me to expect you to tell me.”
“It would,” the Countess agreed cordially. “My dear, if you wish to progress in the world – and particularly if you desire an interesting life – you must presume to ask whatever questions will give you the answers you desire. I am not incapable of giving you a set-down if I consider you have gone too far – and I promise I will not hold it against you if you ask a question to which I do not want to give an answer.”
“Thank you. In that case, my first question – which I hope you will feel quite free to refuse to answer – is why you come this way so frequently.”
“I have a very dear friend who lives in Würtzburg and find that letters do not quite cut it.”
“No, indeed. There is too great a gap between writing and receiving. It is not at all the same thing as speaking to a person.”
“No. There are so many more opportunities to get it wrong – to say something which one regrets the moment one has sealed the letter and which the other may misunderstand. It is only too easy, in a moment of carelessness, to express sentiments which cause offence or – or break the other’s spirit.”
This last was uttered with something like a crack in the voice which made Honoria afraid that she had unintentionally touched a sensitive spot in her companion’s heart.
“I cannot comment,” she said after a pause. “For I am too young – and know no one to whom I am excessively attached who lives some distance away.”
“Does not the man in Vienna, who is neither your cousin nor your brother, fall into that category?”
“I suppose he does, but I have never written to him and he has never written to me.”
“And yet, in spite of this lack of correspondence, you feel able to travel halfway across the world to throw yourself into his arms?”
“I was not intending to do that precisely – just throw myself upon his mercy.”
“Is it not the same thing?”
“No, not in the least. One throws oneself – or one is, whether throwing is involved or not – at the mercy of one’s guardians and one’s family but the idea of being in someone’s arms – however one were to arrive there – seems altogether different to me.”
“Of course it is. You are, for instance, at the moment at my mercy but I do not imagine that being in my arms forms any part of your expectation. Do you think that you could run away and board an Eilwagen – or most likely a succession of such horrifying carts - for, really, they are scarcely more than that – and arrive safely at Lord Waldron’s side? Will you not cast yourself into his arms when – if – you make it into his presence?”
“Yes, I daresay I will but he is by way of being a litter-mate – as you described him – and is not the sort of person … he is not a lover, nor like to be.”
“No? But then you did not think of your cousin as a lover either until recently.”
“I still do not.”
“I see; the lover-like development is entirely on his side, is it? It’s my belief that you have led an excessively sheltered life. Has it never occurred to you that you are now a grown woman and will find yourself the object of a good many men’s attentions?”
“No – yes; of course I know that, but the men you have mentioned are members of my family – not potential lovers.”
“And yet one of them has transformed into just such a person and, by doing so, has driven you away. You said just now that Lord Waldron also resembles a litter-mate. Were you aware that litter-mates frequently become mates in another sense when they reach maturity?”
“Yes, of course I know that, but it is different for people.”
“Not so very; we have laws which prevent brothers and sisters from marrying each other, although I can assure you that they do – or do, in any event become lovers – more often than you might think. I believe the purpose of the laws is to prevent inbreeding, which can lead to defective progeny. The same is true for horses and dogs although
they themselves are unaware, one presumes, of the likely outcome of mating. But Waldron is not your brother – or indeed your cousin. Do you not think it likely that, when you arrive, pretty as a picture and in sore need of being taken care of, he will hold out his arms to you? Are you not in fact fleeing from one litter-mate to another and have you not considered that your reception may prove similar?”
This picture not unnaturally dismayed Honoria, so much so that she forgot the other question which she had wished to put to the Countess and lapsed into an uneasy silence, which her companion did not break.
And so the pair proceeded on their way in harmony. The further they advanced into Europe, the colder it grew until one day, when they were not far from Würtzburg, it began to snow.
That evening the Countess said, “We are now not many days’ drive from my destination and the time has almost come for us to part – at least for the time being. I have decided, after much thought and at the risk of seeming positively overbearing, that I shall myself arrange for the hire of a carriage to take you on to Vienna. I shall send Matt with you as well as Patience.”
“I do not find you in the least overbearing,” Honoria said at once. “I am exceedingly grateful to you for all you have done but will not the carriage you hire come with a coachman? I do not wish to deprive you of Matt.”
“You will not be depriving me in the least because I am about to arrive at my destination and will be going nowhere except in the company and in the carriage of my friend; in any event I will feel a great deal happier knowing that you have at least one manservant whom you can trust by your side. You can send him back when you reach your friend who is neither your cousin nor your brother, but I would like you to keep Patience. You will need a maid whatever you are doing or wherever you are going. It is not, after all, beyond the bounds of possibility that Waldron will send you straight back to your aunt and uncle and you will need a maid to accompany you.”
“Thank you. I shall miss you. I have greatly enjoyed our journey together. May I write to you and keep you apprised of my progress?”
The Countess received this request with a somewhat evasive look so that Honoria guessed that she did not wish to divulge her exact address in case, rejected by Waldron, her new young friend might decide to flee to her mentor’s side.
“I promise I will not turn up on the doorstep without writing first,” she said earnestly.
The Countess had the grace to blush but said, “You may if you wish. I have enjoyed your company enormously and wish you the very best of good fortune.”
They parted a few days later. Honoria climbed into the hired travelling chaise along with the maid while Matt, who was one of Lady Angmering’s under-grooms, mounted the box beside the coachman.
The travelling chaise was built more for endurance on long journeys than for speed and lacked not only many of the springs which the Countess’s vehicle possessed but also most of the internal comforts. The squabs were leather but were exceedingly worn and the view from the windows was narrow and partially obscured by the poor quality of the glass. Lady Angmering insisted on Honoria taking not only two hot bricks – one for herself and one for the maid – but also the largest of the several fur rugs.
At the last moment she put her hand into her pocket and withdrew, almost hidden within her palm, a small pistol.
“Take this; it will afford you some protection if the coachman is not quick enough with the blunderbuss or if you are threatened when you are not travelling.”
“Oh, my lady! I could not - will you not need it yourself?”
“No, I have another – the one in the carriage. This one is especially designed for women because it is so very small that you can put it in your pocket or hold it hidden within the folds of your skirt. You never know when you may need it. It is loaded.”
“Oh!” Honoria exclaimed, horrified. She held the gun, warm from her ladyship’s hand, and concealed it within the folds of her skirt as suggested. “Will it go off if I am careless? I do not want to shoot either Patience or myself.”
“No, it has a safety catch, but you must not forget to take it off if you do want to use it. It is my experience that I, at any rate, am not a good enough actress to threaten to use a firearm if I am not actually holding a gun that is primed and cocked. If one wishes to be believed, one must first convince oneself of one’s resolution.”
“Yes, I can readily understand that,” Honoria agreed. “But I do not know how to fire a gun even were I able to take off the safety catch.”
“It is not difficult,” her ladyship said, almost impatiently. “You point the barrel at the person threatening you and that will probably be quite sufficient; you will not need to pull the trigger but, if you do, you simply squeeze it and – bang – it will fire.”
“But how do I take off the safety catch?”
“Like this.” The Countess held out her hand, standing very close to Honoria so that it was unlikely that either Patience, who had already taken her seat, or Matt, who was holding the horses, would be able to see. Honoria put the small gun into the imperious hand and watched as the Countess pulled back the safety catch.
“Now you do it,” she said, putting it back into position.
Honoria did as she was bid, finding it hard to move at first, but the Countess stood over her until she had acquired the knack.
“There – keep the safety catch on all the time unless you are intending to shoot someone. It will be accurate if you are very close to your foe but not so much if he is some way off – in addition you must make allowance for the likelihood that your aim will be poor. Never forget, if you do intend to hit someone, to line up the barrel of the pistol with his chest; it is a common mistake to think you will hit him in the heart if you are looking at his chest but, unless you hold the gun at eye level, you will most likely hit him in the knee, which will be better than nothing and should stop him in his tracks, but will not finish him off altogether. But, as I say, you will most likely only need to point it.”
“Thank you,” Honoria said in a small voice, not by any means certain quite how grateful she felt for being given something she had no wish to receive.
“You do not sound as if you are altogether pleased by my parting gift,” the Countess said, smiling rather slyly. “But it may come in useful. I should have thought of it before so that we could have engaged in a longer period of instruction. You have only one shot in place. Jump into the carriage while I run inside and fetch some spares.”
“I hope I shall not be obliged to use it but I am grateful nonetheless.”
The Countess nodded, satisfied that the younger woman had accepted the gift, and turned back to the hotel. Matt, assuming that, with her ladyship’s departure, it was time to leave, attempted to shut the door of the carriage but was prevented by Honoria leaning forward and saying, “Her ladyship is fetching something she forgot to give me. We are not quite ready yet.”
When the Countess returned she was holding a small, jewelled bag, which she thrust into Honoria’s hands. “You will find powder and shot in there. Jump down again for a moment and I will show you how to load. It is not difficult but you will feel more confident if you know precisely how to go about it.”
She drew Honoria a few feet away from the carriage and demonstrated with consummate ease how to insert powder and shot into the pistol. “There: now you will be quite ready. I hope you will not have to use it but it is best to be prepared, as I said.”
“Thank you,” Honoria said again.
“Not at all; I have grown excessively attached to you and do not want you to suffer any harm. Pray do not look so horrified: you are clearly a spirited girl or you would not have had the bottom to run away in the first place; firing a pistol should not be beyond you. You can carry it in your muff,” she added. “That is one of the great advantages of travelling in the winter – it is so much easier to conceal a firearm.”
As the travelling chaise moved off, Honoria felt more lonely and uncertain than she had
at the beginning of her flight. The Countess, so sure of herself and so apparently immune to shock, had provided a wonderful degree of safety and security. Honoria had met almost nobody outside her family and the only women she knew were her aunt and Helen.
She knew little more about the Countess now than she had when she had first accosted her, she knew nothing of her husband, whom she presumed dead, whether she had children or who she was visiting in Würtzburg but her company had been lively and informative. Without her, the space in the much smaller travelling chaise seemed curiously empty, the maid – who was by no means thin – filling the seat without by any means filling the vacuum left by the absence of Lady Angmering.
They travelled on further into the depths of Europe and the snow increased with every mile. The landscape was soon uniformly white, only the tree trunks and the underneath of the spectral branches showing dark. When it stopped snowing there was often a blazing sun so that Honoria was almost glad of the scratched and foggy windows, which cut some of the glare. But most days they drove through falling snow which, for a girl used to England’s more temperate climate, made the country seem astonishingly foreign. She and Patience sat in their respective corners of the coach, their feet on separate hot bricks but their laps and legs wrapped in one fur rug.
Patience was not a female much given to chatter although she became considerably more animated when they stopped for the night and she was able to share a supper table with Matt, who was a handsome boy of not much more than nineteen. Patience herself could have been any age between seventeen and thirty, her predominant feature being almost excessive plumpness, a physical characteristic which gave her what Honoria suspected was an artificial bloom of youth. As a maid, she performed her duties with considerable skill, which was what made Honoria suppose that she was nearer the latter extreme in terms of age. She knew just how to arrange her mistress’s hair so that it had an appearance of artlessness whilst at the same time being perfectly neat. She washed, cleaned and pressed Honoria’s clothes overnight and polished her boots so that they shone. In addition, her solid presence beside her mistress in the carriage lent an element of respectability and conventionality to the trip, which was, she was certain, precisely what the Countess had intended. In short, Honoria was glad of her company.
Honoria Or The Safety 0f The Frying Pan Page 20
