A Little Folly Page 15

  ‘You would not contemplate a return to Hythe?’

  Lieutenant Lynley shrugged. ‘I think I should rather like it. I have been a wanderer enough to value the idea of a home, though black sheep are not supposed to think that. But as for Pearce and I residing together …’ He shook his head, his face darting with wry bemusement. ‘And then, you know, if he does marry – as I don’t doubt he will, for he may surely take his pick – I should be even more de trop. No, I think a better course for me would be – well, the same course. I shall try to marry, and marry well. Does that not sound sensible?’

  ‘I am not sure. If you mean to marry for money, then I suppose it is sensible – but altogether cold and mercenary; and I cannot quite believe you serious.’

  ‘Why, it is only doing what everyone does, more or less. Oh, if there is love also, then so much the better – I presume, anyhow: for all my reputation, I have never known what the poets call the pleasing passion, unless you count that piece of youthful folly I have tired you with. But love in a cottage is, I am reliably informed, not a prescription for happiness.’

  Louisa was at a loss how to judge this. Everything in her, of both reason and sentiment, had taken his part entirely, in hearing his narration: everything in it accorded so well with what she knew of Pearce Lynley that she could only wonder she had not guessed at such a truth before, behind Mr Lynley’s veiled disdain and dark hints about his brother’s character. She could only conclude that this last declaration of his, and the half-playful, half-scornful look with which he had said it, was the result of more disappointed hopes, and a more embittering experience than he would allow.

  Supper being over, she was detached from Lieutenant Lynley – though she would gladly have had more of his company – by Sophie, who besought her aid with Tom. He had lately affected an eyeglass; but had the greatest difficulty in fixing it, and keeping it in; and had been tussling with it throughout the evening, to such painful effect on his face that it looked as if someone had attacked him with it. Louisa was to join her entreaties to Sophie’s, that he abandon the innovation, even though he had heard it was quite the latest and smartest thing. They were successful at last, though not without some difficulty; and Louisa would have enlisted Valentine’s aid, if he had been anywhere to be seen.

  ‘Why, I think he took himself off,’ Tom said, regretfully consigning the eyeglass to his pocket. ‘Meeting The Top at the club, perhaps. They are a good deal together, those two: which is no surprise – sterling fellows, both. Hardly know which I love best.’

  The discourtesy of his leaving their aunt’s party, and the thought of Valentine choosing to spend his time instead with so vacuous a companion as The Top, were equally disturbing to Louisa: – but she would not allow herself a conscious reproof. Lieutenant Lynley’s story had sharpened her distaste for sitting in moral judgement. She was reminded of an earlier promise to herself – to take notice of Georgiana’s governess, Miss Bowen, who had been confined to her pupil’s side the whole time. Seating herself by them, she took care to address her remarks to Miss Bowen as she would to any other guest – not with total success: Miss Bowen, pale, plainly dressed, reserved, seemed bent on maintaining her subservient place. But she had surprisingly large grey-green eyes, which when she lifted them revealed a strong spark of intelligence, and even force; and Georgiana manifested a notably decreased tendency to pout, sneer and toss her head, which suggested that Mr Lynley had perhaps chosen well. A chance remark about reading revived something that had been niggling at Louisa ever since she had spoken with Miss Astbury; and she found herself abruptly asking: ‘Miss Bowen, what do you think of Lord Byron? Do you think the genius of his works in any way vitiated by – well, what is rumoured of his private character?’

  ‘No: I think that is a great nonsense,’ Miss Bowen said promptly.

  ‘I am glad to hear you say so. There is such humbug talked – and surely no true critic would sit down to assess the worth of a poem or a book on such grounds.’

  ‘I agree. The true critic, indeed, would do better to put aside the adulation that the undoubted novelty and energy of Lord Byron’s poetry excites, and address instead its very real weaknesses.’

  ‘Weaknesses? I do not understand you.’

  Miss Bowen smiled a little. ‘I do not deny that he has genius, and it may in time achieve a fuller expression. But there is a want of unity and design in his works, which one would hope to see corrected; and sometimes taste is sacrificed to a desire for cheap effect. In this last he might profitably learn from the graver, purer style of Mr Wordsworth, the poet of the Lakes.’

  ‘I have read a little of his work,’ said Louisa, by which she meant she had not read any. ‘Is he not accounted rather dull?’

  ‘He can be: that is his weakness. I am not setting one up against the other. That would be as superficial as judging an author by his private life.’

  ‘Yes: certainly it would,’ said Louisa, who was beginning to find Miss Bowen rather formidable, and certainly not in need of any such reinforcement of self-esteem as she had hoped to communicate.

  ‘You need not agree, you know. These are simply the opinions of Mary Bowen: they are there to be challenged.’

  Louisa was about to agree to this – but saw that that would not do; and very soon made an escape, on the pretext that she was wanted by her aunt. It was an unlucky choice: – Mr Lynley was with her; and Mrs Spedding surrendered his company at once, cheerfully remarking that, as such old acquaintance, they must have a great deal to say to one another.

  This appeared, at first, so very far from the case that they sat in silence for a time that would have been for Louisa unendurable, if the prospect of speaking to him had not been equally vexatious. Her opinion of him tonight had been set upon a see-saw: the idea that he might really have loved her, and that he might seek to assuage his wound by a hasty declaration in another direction, could not fail to move her in some degree; but her conversation with his brother had reminded her of the character of this man over whom she had such apparent power, in all its cold officiousness. It was this aspect of Mr Lynley that came to the fore when at last he spoke.

  ‘I could not help but observe, Miss Carnell, that you sought to engage Mary Bowen in conversation. I have no doubt that this was kindly meant; but you need not give yourself the trouble. It is very well understood that she appears here as nothing more than companion and preceptor to Georgiana’s youth: it would be a very unhappy derangement of propriety if she were to be addressed in any other way – unhappy on all sides; for no one knows better than Miss Bowen herself what is appropriate to her position, and it cannot be to her comfort to have these matters set at variance.’

  ‘As to that, Mr Lynley, I can make no more courteous reply than that I talk to whom I choose. If I made Miss Bowen uncomfortable, I am not aware of it.’

  ‘It would not be her place to betray it. It was her strong sense of these distinctions, alongside her other qualifications, that led me to engage her as governess. Her father was secretary and librarian to the scion of one of our noble houses; and thus, though of modest birth herself, her upbringing has naturally produced in her a consciousness and comprehension of due degree that cannot be too highly commended.’

  ‘Then I myself lack this comprehension: very well, Mr Lynley – leave me to the consequences of it. I am sure you cannot fail to recollect the substance of our last conversation at Pennacombe, in which you forswore these attempts to oversee my conduct.’

  ‘I recall it,’ he said, his eyes very pale, ‘and it has been, and remains, my settled resolution never to allude to that conversation again. I would be grateful for the acknowledgement, Miss Carnell, that the reference came from you.’

  ‘Certainly, whatever you wish: only if we are to meet at all on tolerably civil terms, you must stop observing me in this way. I have seen too much of the urge to direct and control for me to like it, even when it is represented as responsibility.’

  His chin went up. ‘You have, of course, b
een having a long conversation with my brother.’

  ‘Yes: I do not suppose that escaped your observation either. But you need not fear, he has not told me any tale of woes or wrongs, or spoken of you with anything but respect. I now understand the shadow attaching to Lieutenant Lynley’s name; the circumstances surrounding his departure from Mrs Poulter’s house: nothing pleasant: but nothing so very dreadful either.’

  ‘Not in consequences – for luckily the scheme was discovered. But there is much to reprehend in the betrayal of my grandmother’s trust, the heedless unconcern for her repose of mind—’

  ‘Which he is very sensible of, Mr Lynley.’

  ‘I see. You are a swift convert to his cause: so I shall not even ask the question, whether you found much that was improving in my brother’s conversation.’

  ‘He has contracted, I think, an unhappily cynical turn of mind – but that I conceive a result of the influences operating on him. If a man is to be always mistrusted, it is not wonderful that he falls out of the habit of believing in anything himself.’

  ‘I think trust must be earned.’

  ‘And I greatly wonder what your brother would have to do finally to earn it,’ Louisa cried. ‘Really, Mr Lynley, I could like you a good deal better if you had ever committed an impetuous folly.’

  ‘I consider that I have,’ he said, with a full look that seemed to blister her; and, with only the shortest of bows, walked away from her.

  Louisa was not sorry, after all, for the musical party to end; and even envied Valentine his masculine privilege of going on somewhere, when she was afraid that sleep would not be soon summoned. She occupied herself by taking up her volume of Byron, and reading it again with an eye for unity and design; but she was not convinced – and was preparing some smart replies for Mary Bowen, when at last she heard Valentine come in. She saw with a start that it was past three in the morning: he had never been so late before. His footsteps sounded in the passage, and then paused outside her door, as if he had seen the candlelight, and was about to tap and come in. But this was less and less his habit; and after a further pause, in which she could not be sure whether she detected a sigh, he moved on to his own room, shutting the door softly.

  Chapter XIII

  ‘It was very obliging of them,’ said Mr Tresilian, referring to the arches, banners and garlands with which the principal streets of London were now decorated, ‘but they need not have made such a fuss about our coming. Just a trumpet or two would have sufficed.’

  ‘Oh, my dear sir, you are very welcome indeed,’ said Mrs Spedding, ‘but I think those preparations are in honour of the visit of the Allied Sovereigns, who began landing at Dover yesterday – oh, but you are funning. You looked so grave I mistook you! Well, you have certainly come at the most remarkable time. There will be the Tsar of Russia and the King of Prussia – Tom, have I got those the right way round? – and Prince Metternich and any amount of generals. It will be a gala – quite a gala. And to think at this time of year there is usually not a soul to be seen in town!’

  Mr Tresilian, Kate and Miss Rose had called at Hill Street as soon as they were settled at the Golden Cross Hotel – a venue that Valentine allowed as acceptable, though not as elegant as Stephen’s; but both he and Tom were amazed as to how they had secured rooms there. ‘For everywhere was full – shockingly full. Only by a word in the right ear, only by a useful connection could one get a decent berth anywhere.’ Mr Tresilian deferred to their superior knowledge, but resolved the mystery quite simply by saying that he had asked the landlord if there were rooms, and given him a half-sovereign as he did so, and that had seemed to settle the business.

  ‘But, my dear Tresilian, how long do you intend to stay?’ Valentine pursued. ‘The comforts of an inn-lodging, even the best, are limited; and I have been asking around for a decent house, and there is nothing – simply nothing.’

  ‘We shall stay as long as there are interesting things to see,’ Mr Tresilian said. ‘As for lodgings, my banker writes me that he can secure us some pleasant rooms for Monday, hard by Lombard Street.’

  Valentine winced a little at the naming of an address so very City, and so little fashionable; but on the whole he was unreservedly delighted to see his friend, and was thoroughly cordial to Kate and Miss Rose: and while the visitors were occupied with Mrs Spedding, he murmured to Louisa: ‘I am glad he has a new coat. He would have appeared excessively countrified in that old blue thing without a waist; and you see how well he looks when he takes a few pains.’

  Louisa said nothing: she had never thought Mr Tresilian looked ill in his old coat; and she could only suppress a sigh that Kate’s new gown and spencer, fresh complexion, and bright shy glances, went quite unremarked.

  As for Sophie, she was extremely attentive to Mr Tresilian, asking with great minuteness after his neighbourhood, his household and his ships. In his replies he was agreeable – but composed; as if, Louisa thought, he were setting out to measure and test his own fascination. He cordially accepted Mrs Spedding’s invitation to dine with them later; but once there, it was the Carnells to whom he devoted his chief attention. Naturally enough, perhaps: they were the oldest of friends, and he had many things to tell of their Devonshire neighbourhood: items of news, and the kind regards and compliments of their neighbours. To all of this Valentine listened with a very limited patience; and when Mr Tresilian added that he had ridden over to Pennacombe House most days, to see that all was in order there, Valentine snapped with a little laugh of irritation that there was not the slightest need for him to be fussing with that, as the steward knew his business very well. – After this Mr Tresilian was less inclined to talk to his friend, and more to observe him quietly. Louisa, who could not bear to have Valentine thought ill of, and least of all by Mr Tresilian, at last intervened on his behalf, saying at dinner, with attempted lightness: ‘You must think, Mr Tresilian, we have become thoroughly townish. But the fact is, there is always such a great din of talk here that one becomes somehow deaf to country news, much as one likes to hear it. You will soon find it so yourself.’

  ‘I do not think I shall find anything of the kind,’ he said, ‘but I congratulate you. That piece of tact was ingeniously worked out.’

  ‘I’m sure Valentine did not mean to offend—’

  ‘He did not: and even if he did, he can always rely on you to avert it. So, have you seen Pearce Lynley in town?’

  ‘Yes, we have met the whole family. Well – I find London is a smaller world than I had imagined, and there is really no escaping the acquaintance,’ Louisa said: conscious that, for various reasons too ill-defined to be examined, she did not wholly wish to.

  Mr Tresilian nodded. ‘Yes: we had better leave a card,’ he said, with an expression of fathomless gloom. ‘What I would really like to do some day is leave a blank card – perfectly blank – on every hall table.’

  ‘What would be the purpose of that?’

  ‘Benevolence. It would furnish everyone with the opportunity for intriguing speculation: it would promote sociability, as they would be asking their friends if they had got one too: and children could draw on them. I always longed to draw on calling-cards when I was a boy, but it was never allowed. How does Lady Harriet?’ he added, with a sharp look.

  ‘Tolerably well, I think: we have seen little of her,’ Louisa said carefully.

  ‘I wondered if she were reconciled with her husband. Oh, yes, I know her history: Valentine told me when we were at Pennacombe. He was always harping on that string.’

  ‘I do not think a reconciliation likely. Colonel Eversholt continues very violent, they say. But Sophie, you know, is her great friend, and she could tell you more of that, Mr Tresilian.’

  ‘Oh! it doesn’t signify,’ he said quickly, as if a little breeze had blown through him. ‘Lady Harriet is doubtless much occupied with her faro-bank; and that is not one of the sights we are bent on taking in. Oh, yes, we mean to be thorough country visitors, you know, and to go steadily about, gaping at
everything from the lions in the Tower to the dear fat Prince himself, and grumbling about the prices. I told Valentine so: naturally his delight is not to be expressed.’ Mr Tresilian’s face was impassive: probably only someone who knew him as well as Louisa did would have seen the devilish spark in his eye. ‘Well, Kate is all excitement – and I hope that the change and novelty, at least, will do her good. She has been a little low. And though we had the greatest difficulty in persuading Miss Rose to accompany us, rather than stay at home and live on boiled nettles, I want her to drink the full measure of the experience, now we are here.’

  ‘I doubt she will thank you for it,’ Louisa said, glancing across at Miss Rose, who had been placed next to her old nemesis, Tom, and who was resisting his gallant delight in her company with every self-hating weapon in her armoury. ‘Or, rather, she will thank you in such terms as will make you feel more uncomfortable than if you had done her an injury.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that is certain,’ said Mr Tresilian, easily. ‘But I cling to the hope that somewhere, underneath it all, she may at last enjoy herself. I could cheerfully knock her on the head, sometimes: but still, allowances and all that. I remember my father telling me she was a great beauty in her day. You needn’t stare: you people who have beauty can never quite conceive it in others. I was a beauty in my day, and a baronet once called me an enchanting faun – but there were objections to the match, and my bloom quickly faded.’

  Diverted as she was, she had a moment to register the strangeness of Mr Tresilian’s referring to her as a beauty; but his talk was so steeped in the ironical that it surely meant nothing.

  Louisa and her cousins were much with the Tresilians over the following days, for all were eager to witness the spectacle of the foreign princes, and they made up a regular party to view the processions and parades. Valentine accompanied them sometimes; but he yawned even at the sight of the Tsar driving in the Prince Regent’s chariot to the Carlton House banquet, agreeing with ready cheerfulness, when Mr Tresilian accused him of having no sense of history.