A Little Folly Page 20

  Was this all? He had begun speaking – yes, feelingly, she would have said; but the warning against his brother seemed merely part of his old high-handedness.

  ‘Very well, Mr Lynley: tell me why.’

  He appeared – surprisingly again – to be struggling to express himself. ‘I do not think,’ he said at last, ‘that Francis has a disposition for happiness – either to enjoy it, or communicate it.’

  ‘If that is so, then the answer is surely to be looked for in the influences operating on his life to produce such a disposition.’ And she would have added that if it were so, there was more in it to interest than to repel. – But Louisa was silenced by a new apprehension of intensity: in Mr Lynley’s urgent gaze, and the force with which he retained her hand. Much was revealed. The blow she had inflicted on him had been felt, she could now believe, in his heart as well as his pride. It had made him more open and spontaneous – but his feeling had also been unhappily distorted into the pettiness of jealousy. He must vilify and denigrate his own brother, rather than see her merely on familiar terms with him: must prejudice her against him, rather than allow her to make up her own mind about Francis Lynley’s character. So, he was directing her still: more subtly – but with just as little regard for her judgement. Her view of him was both enlarged and diminished; and in this confusion she sought only to escape from him.

  ‘Mr Lynley, you had better let me go. You must consider – you of all people – the propriety of appearances.’

  ‘I do not care for that,’ he said, astonishing her again, ‘if I could only know that you have at least listened—’

  ‘Listened? Certainly. The habit of a lifetime is not to be so easily broken.’

  She disengaged her hand, and walked away. They were certainly conspicuous on that empty floor, as the flurry of speculative glances confirmed. Her first impulse was to find Valentine – her heart was particularly inclined towards him now – but he was not to be seen. Part of her urged against seeking out Lieutenant Lynley straight away; but when her eye fell on him seated alone, she felt more strongly the absurdity of his brother’s admonitions. To hear him talk, she was dangerously besotted: yet she found she was able to approach Francis Lynley with perfect composure, with no heart-flutterings or leapings – no pangs – no untoward eagerness, or fear that she would be tongue-tied in his presence. Yes, she was partial; and she felt that she had met no other man quite like him: but if this was love, it was a very much more rational business than she had supposed. It was refreshing, she found, to float free of these received ideas. And when Lady Carr materialised in front of her, and began introducing two very stupid-looking, doll-eyed females to Lieutenant Lynley, she was really very little vexed at the unwarranted interruption, and was able to take a seat quite calmly, and refuse several gentlemen the next dance with only a touch of peevishness.

  The sight of The Top lounging towards her was above all unwelcome; but he showed no inclination to dance, and indeed in his tightness of starch was probably unable to.

  ‘Here we are again, Miss Carnell, and hang me if I know why, for I never saw a flatter set!’ he cried, leaving his customary pause for laughter; but as she did not feel impelled to fill it, he went on, staring about the room: ‘Well, she has netted a few of the ton, but that roasts no eggs for me: I have been having some conversation with the Golden Miss Astbury, and it’s as I thought: she is not all the crack. Her grandfather’s fortune was begun with warehouses, you know; and for all her airs, she positively smells of the shop! If she thinks she can gammon me, she is fair and far off!’ And with some more graceful remarks about his hostess’s ancestry, which she was disinclined to answer, he lounged away in a cloud of pomade and exclamation-marks.

  Sophie appeared at her side, lamp-eyed, fanning herself vigorously, and, nodding in the direction of Mr Tresilian, whispered: ‘I shall get that man to an avowal yet, my dear – trust me.’

  Louisa rather doubted it, at least tonight, for Mr Tresilian appeared thoroughly abstracted; but she was sufficiently alarmed to ask her cousin: ‘And, Sophie, what then?’

  ‘Oh, my dear, you look too far ahead. After all, never tell me you haven’t discovered the sheer delight of the chase now. And though I am very far from a bluestocking, I do observe that it is the only time we women stand in any sort of advantage to men: it is our one authority. For once married – well, look at poor Harriet, with no more rights than her abominable husband’s goods and chattels. Not that he has any.’

  This was a new view of the matter; still, Louisa would rather have seen Mr Tresilian, with his general uprightness and honesty, exempted from the game. – But she had no more thought to bestow on this, as a parting in the crowd revealed Lieutenant Lynley, standing apart and looking very dull.

  ‘Ah!’ he said, brightening a little at the sight of her; but the shadows did not entirely lift. ‘Those women have talked my head off. Everything, they tell me, is agreeable, delightful and enchanting. There was very little to be said once I had agreed to those dubious propositions, but they went on and said it all again. Come and be silent with me, and stare disdainfully at the world.’

  ‘Must I be entirely silent? I would wish to say something to lift your spirits.’

  ‘There I must beg you to refrain. A good proper dose of low spirits is something to be indulged and luxuriated in, like a cold. Have you never known the true pleasure of a cold? I cannot doubt it. Not a heavy cold, or a persistent cold: no, one that you know will be gone in a few days, and in the meantime you may sniffle and cosset yourself by the fire, and reply to solicitous enquiries, with a sigh, that you are a little better – not much; and you will try to eat a bit of that something choice they offer you, though you are afraid you will not be able to taste it. There – be truthful – have I not described to you the highest human felicity?’

  ‘I don’t know about the highest,’ she said, smiling, ‘but I am glad you have lifted your own spirits by talking of it.’

  ‘No, no. You have done that. It is just your presence that restores me: there is my sovereign remedy. A great responsibility for you, I admit – to be always had recourse to, like a bottle of smelling-salts.’ The liveliness in his face sank a little. ‘In truth, I have been condemning myself for a very hypocrite. I was so blithe about my incapacity for dancing – but watching you dance has altered that.’

  ‘I hope – I hope not the fact that I danced with your brother—’

  ‘Not that. Lord, you make quite a handsome couple. But I saw how beautifully you do it; and it has even set me to cursing the Frenchman who fired that shot, though I have never felt any animosity to him before, and indeed, for all I know, it might have been one of our own.’

  She hardly knew what to say; but then, as the music struck up again, an impulse seized her, and she brushed away the feeble little caution that trailed in its wake. ‘Do you recollect the steps of the Boulanger? The figures, the position of the hands? Then trust me. We shall dance it, you and I; and what that French or English bullet prevents, I shall supply: I shall do the going down the set, the leaping and turning, for both of us.’

  With an expression of some bemusement, he consented. They took up a position a little away from the set, near the musicians; and the doubt left his look as she showed how they could contrive: while he stood, she danced round him, taking and crossing his hands at the right moments, and merely facing him, on her toes and smiling, at those parts of the dance where they would have been separated. Soon his delight was as keen as hers; and if part of his relish lay in the fact that, as he remarked to her, they were being most scandalously stared at, she was not immune to that aspect of the pleasure herself.

  ‘This is the best mode of dancing of all,’ he said, as they drew close, ‘for it means I never have to surrender my partner.’

  They performed the proper bow and curtsy as the dance ended, and he led her to a seat – passing on the way Mrs Murrow, who could only gape and make inarticulate sounds, as if surprise had robbed her of the last vestiges
of intellect. Here, however, Louisa felt the first check on her spirits, as she saw that Kate Tresilian had been sitting out, and with a more downcast look than even the presence of Miss Rose at her side could account for. It was unlike Mr Tresilian to leave her if she were unengaged: Louisa looked about for him, and at last discerned him in the vestibule, beyond the double doors – with him, the slighter figure of Valentine. They appeared in heated discussion – even argument.

  By the time she reached the vestibule, Valentine was nowhere in sight; and Mr Tresilian was pacing about, high-shouldered, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and his uncropped hair in a very disordered state.

  ‘Mr Tresilian? Whatever is the matter?’

  His pale eyes came to rest on hers, uncomfortably, for just a moment, before he resumed his pacing.

  ‘I have got at cross with your brother.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Gone. That is what our little disagreement was about. I saw him slipping out, and pursued him. I demanded to know why he could not for once spend a whole evening in our company, he replied that he did not have to answer to me for his movements, and so on. It was as unedifying as most quarrels are.’

  ‘It is a pity,’ Louisa said hesitantly, trying to read his expression, ‘but perhaps, you know, he had another engagement—’

  ‘Nonsense. Who goes to a ball when they have another engagement? My disappointment was Kate’s. He appeared to be in thorough enjoyment of her society – had as good as asked her for the next set – and then made himself scarce without a word. It was not well done. Oh, I know what is drawing him away; and I was so vexed with him that I came out with it. I asked him if he were going to Lady Harriet’s house. He did not need to answer: his look was enough. Then I wanted to know how much, just in round figures, he has lately thrown away at her faro-table. He informed me it was none of my business: which I dare say is true.’ Mr Tresilian pulled up before a bust, representing a gentleman dressed in the novel combination of a full-bottomed wig and a toga, and glowered at it. ‘But that is not the worst of his folly, in associating with that woman: as he well knows.’ He turned to Louisa. ‘As you well know also.’

  She avoided his eyes. ‘I do not like to think of you quarrelling over this – you who have been the firmest of friends. And I’m sure Valentine meant no harm—’

  ‘A pity it has to come to a quarrel. But someone must make the young rip see sense. I always thought you not deficient in that quality.’

  ‘Mr Tresilian, please don’t reproach me. I have no influence over Valentine – nor would I seek it: that is quite understood between us. Just as he in turn would never seek to regulate my conduct—’

  ‘Aye, I have seen that, and more’s the pity,’ he said harshly. ‘This prodigious game you are playing with the Lynley brothers: first one must dangle, then t’other. I dare say it is very enjoyable for you: the consciousness of power always is. But the sensation is not so agreeable for those on the receiving end; and the spectacle is not pretty. You would do well to remember what became of Bonaparte, before you start enjoying your power too much.’

  Louisa stared at him: stared away: was for some burning moments beyond speech. It was as shocking as if a trusted dog had turned wolfish. – There was nothing, of course, in what he said: absolutely nothing. It was his disappointment for Kate making him unreasonable; and something else perhaps – something she had seen all too much of.

  ‘Thank you for the reminder, Mr Tresilian. But I cannot consent to you directing and controlling my life: there was enough of that from my father.’

  ‘Your father is dead,’ he pronounced, his tone and look not at all softened. ‘I do wonder how long you can keep pretending he is alive, so you can defy him.’

  She turned on her heel and left him. She thought she heard him call something out to her, but whether it were reproof or remorse she did not want to hear it; and she plunged back into the ballroom, where the noise and movement, the stir and chatter, could perform their blessed task of shutting out thought.

  Chapter XVII

  The Spedding party left the Portman Square ball at a late hour; but Louisa’s pleasure in the occasion was over long before then. In vain did she apply herself to the business of gaiety. Dancing, conversation, supper – none would answer: all was spoiled. Only in the company of Francis Lynley could she find a little solace – a little, because she could not approach him without a searing consciousness of Mr Tresilian’s assertions: horrible and unjust as they were, they affected her, and she could not bring sufficient composure to Lieutenant Lynley’s society properly to appreciate it. Happily he at least was the man she thought him: he respected her right to be distracted and subdued, and did not demand to know what was wrong, or make heavy attempts to cajole her into a different temper. Here, at last, was a gentleman who could speak to her without wishing to lay down the law to her; she wished others would follow his example.

  The Tresilians left the ball early. One awkwardness was thus removed – or, rather, postponed: for another meeting with Mr Tresilian there must surely be, unless he decided to wash his hands of London and take the first coach to Devonshire, and she did not know how she would face it. Even as she lay in bed that night, running the scene over in her memory, she was composing some very pointed and spirited replies to him; but there was no altering the fact that, misguided and unfair as his censures were, their coming from him had a peculiar power to grieve and agitate her.

  She was eager to see Valentine, and hear what he had to say of his altercation with Mr Tresilian – and to find in him, perhaps, the understanding ally that he had always been to her through the troublous years at Pennacombe. But he had come home very late, and was very late rising; and thus to her distress was added the unwelcome suspicion that Mr Tresilian had been right in this at least – that the spell of Lady Harriet’s house was far from broken. Breakfast was over, and she had gone up to her room to put on her bonnet and pelisse preparatory to a morning’s engagement with Mrs Spedding, when she at last heard his bedroom door open.

  Only a few minutes elapsed, and then there was a great clatter on the stair. – Valentine flung open her door.

  ‘Good God, Valentine, what is it?’ Her eyes dropped from his white pinched face to the letter he clutched in his hand.

  Tremblingly he held it out. ‘You had better read it.’ She took the letter, while her brother sank into a chair and put his head in his hands.

  To Valentine Carnell, Esq.

  Sir.

  It is with the greatest reluctance, and even disgust, that I bring myself to address you; and on such a subject as a gentleman can hardly touch upon without the deepest mortification and resentment. – These, however, I must subdue, under the stricter necessity of notifying you of my knowledge, and my intentions. I have struggled to disregard the flagrancy with which you have lately advertised your unlawful intimacy with my wife, with the intention only of sparing her the obloquy that any greater attention must bring. I can struggle no more: the insult is no longer to be borne. I have sufficient proofs of that intimacy to make a recourse to the law not merely possible but incumbent on me as a man of honour. Be hereby advised, sir, that I intend to bring against you, as soon as the law-terms allow, at Common Pleas or King’s Bench, a suit for criminal conversation with my wife, Lady Harriet Eversholt, and to obtain damages thereby commensurate with the infringement of my marital rights, the injury to my name and reputation, and the suffering inflicted on me by your disgraceful conduct.

  I remain, &c

  HENRY EVERSHOLT

  For some time after reading this letter Louisa stood in doubtful wonder whether she were not dreaming: even glanced at the bed, as if she might see herself lying there; and then, assured of the letter’s reality, glanced over it again and, with a last clinging of hope, tried to tell herself that she did not understand it – that it did not at all mean what she took it to mean, that it was an absurdity, and any moment Valentine would raise his head and laugh with her.

  It wo
uld not do. The lesser legal details she did not comprehend, the outlines were all too clear. – This was, surely, ruinous.

  But there was Valentine first. Alarm, speculation, preparation for whatever trouble lay ahead must give way to the first duty of her heart: to support her brother, and give him the assurance that his cause was entirely hers. She knelt down, and let her silence and embrace convey all.

  At last he kissed her hand, and thanked her, and tried to show her a sanguine face; though the marks of distress were too evident.

  ‘You comprehend Colonel Eversholt’s meaning, I think,’ he said, rising and taking up the letter again.

  ‘He means to sue you for—’

  ‘Trespass, I think is the strict legal definition,’ Valentine said, with a grating laugh. ‘Trespass on his property, meaning his wife. Dear God. A crim-con suit. I should not have believed it even of him – to see his wife dragged before the publicity of the courts, held up as an adulteress, to satisfy his pride and vindictiveness. Well, we shall see. We shall see.’

  ‘Valentine – what he says of these – these sufficient proofs …’

  He threw her a wild look. ‘Louisa, you do not believe his accusation – the essence of his accusation – to be true?’

  She hesitated. ‘I am ready to hear, and believe, anything you wish to tell me, Valentine.’

  He flushed crimson, and each had the greatest difficulty in looking at the other. ‘My esteem – yes, my affection for Lady Harriet is great, and it is warm. I do not deny that there may have existed a disposition – a temptation even – on both sides. But every impulse of respect and honour has operated against it.’

  Louisa believed, or chose to believe: it did not much matter, she felt, beside the pressing question of what was to happen. ‘Perhaps,’ she said hopefully, ‘this is merely an empty threat, more of his bluster: and if you were to undertake not to see Lady Harriet any more, for example …’ But on recollecting her encounter with Colonel Eversholt, she could not even convince herself; there was, she suspected, as much steel as bluster in him: and Valentine was already shaking his head.