A Little Folly Read online

  ‘Naturally,’ he said, ignoring this, ‘neither you nor Mr Carnell would have welcomed her to Pennacombe without some previous assurance as to her character and situation in life.’

  ‘She is a guest, Mr Lynley, not a governess.’

  He made no answer to this, but sat regarding her with a look more quizzical than his usual coolness admitted. Perhaps it was the dressing of her hair, which she had done rather after Sophie’s fashion; whatever the reason, it made her sufficiently uncomfortable.

  ‘So, have you any more news of your brother, Mr Lynley?’

  ‘I hear, through an Admiralty connection, that he has taken ship: he will be in England as soon as the winds permit.’

  ‘No doubt it will be a great comfort to you to have him restored.’

  ‘I am happy that he is safe, certainly. Comfort is not a term I would apply in this instance, nor in anything connected with Francis,’ he said, with his severest composure.

  ‘I’m sure I should be greatly agitated if my brother were to be returning wounded from overseas.’

  ‘Your familial feeling does you credit. – Allow me to remark, however, that the situation is quite different.’

  That allow me to remark was a characteristic phrase of Mr Lynley’s that in Louisa’s view contained, in little, all that was detestable about him. There was, after all, not the slightest possibility of his not being allowed to remark, ever – as he well knew; but the phrase established his superiority, put you in your place, and cast over the conversation the deep chill that he appeared to consider the median temperature for human relations. – Fortunately she had not long to remain at this pitch of vexation with him. Mr Tresilian came to entreat her to play, and conduct her to the pianoforte.

  ‘The fact is,’ he confided, ‘they’re talking of Kate playing; but the newcomers have made her shy so I thought if we had you, it would cover it over for now.’

  ‘There is no resisting such a gracious invitation. What do you like best about my playing, Mr Tresilian? The wrong notes, or the splendid force with which I hit them?’

  He thought. ‘No: the way you look at the music, as if it were a threatening letter written in blood.’

  She was not so diverted by this as to forget to watch him when he returned to his seat by Sophie; and having got creditably to the end of her first piece without taking too many musical wrong turnings, she observed them further. There was certainly a marked attention in his manner; but the gaze he fixed on Sophie struck Louisa chiefly by its wistfulness. – It seemed the look of a man remembering, rather than admiring. As a girl she had only glimpsed the late Mrs Tresilian once or twice, Sir Clement not in the least inclining to bridal visits; but putting that together with all she had heard of her, she wondered if Sophie, with her dainty vitality, was reminding Mr Tresilian of his unfortunate choice, and with what emotions he contemplated the likeness.

  Presently Kate was prevailed upon to play – it was Lady Harriet, with a few discreet and skilful words, who achieved it; and as Mr Tresilian’s attention was now claimed by Miss Rose, who was looking unhappy so that she could deny looking unhappy, Louisa took the opportunity of asking Sophie how she liked her dinner companion.

  ‘Oh, excessively! I thought at first I should get nothing from him – but he is quite a delightfully whimsical creature; and when I asked him about his name, and whether it is Cornish, he said yes, but I must be quiet about it, because the men of Devonshire and the men of Cornwall have disliked each other since time immemorial, and he was liable to be put in a sack by night and dropped in the Tamar. His face was so dreadfully solemn that for a moment I thought he was serious.’

  ‘Mr Tresilian does not often say serious things.’

  ‘No – and yet there is the most interesting melancholy about his face; and then something boyish too, when he smiles – though at first I supposed him past thirty.’

  ‘He is, I think, eight-and-twenty.’ Louisa doubted that it was appropriate for her to give Sophie his history; and indeed found herself feeling a little proprietorial about it, and faintly resentful of such speculations from a newcomer, when she knew him so well. But she was doubtful also whether it was something her cousin actively sought. If anyone else had spoken so, she might have suspected a partiality; but in Sophie’s words and expression, she discerned nothing more than the Spedding tendency to find everybody likeable.

  The party broke up early – much earlier than suited Valentine, who wished parties to go on for ever – at the instigation of Mr Lynley, who asked for his carriage to be brought round. The Tresilians, who only used theirs when there was Miss Rose to be conveyed, thought they had better go too, to save troubling the servants twice over; and so started a general leave-taking. Mr Lynley, who still wore an air of privately drawing conclusions, chose a moment in the hall to speak to Louisa alone.

  ‘I hope, Miss Carnell, that the demands of your company will not prevent me from calling at Pennacombe in my accustomed manner, and having some talk with you alone,’ he said, in a tone very little like that of a man asking a favour, and much like one asserting a right.

  ‘Certainly: though as you remark, Mr Lynley, the entertainment of our guests must have the first claim.’

  She thought she had done rather well in answering him with his own cold propriety of expression; but she could not be comfortable under his steadfast regard; and she hardly knew how to answer when he went on: ‘As to claims, there are those which are incidental and temporary – and those which are of long standing, and reinforced by the strongest authority. The balance between them, my dear Miss Carnell, I leave to your good sense to judge; but as this touches on the matter I wish to discuss, I shall not anticipate.’

  For some time afterwards she felt as drearily crushed and helpless as she had after her father’s worst rebukes – a sensation very unwelcome in its return; and it took all the liveliness of her cousins to restore her spirits, before the hour of retiring. Here, indeed, lay her best remedy: for she was reminded that this was an acquaintance begun and maintained by happy choice, not by compulsion. The question of choice was still in her mind when at last, being alone, she told Valentine of Mrs Lappage’s conjectures about Mr Tresilian.

  ‘I don’t know – but I fancy Sophie may have set him thinking, perhaps, of his late wife, and that is all the reason he was struck with her,’ Louisa said. ‘And yet it occurs to me – Mr Tresilian might marry again: there is nothing to prevent it; he has an easy fortune, and though he has a peculiar provoking sort of temper, that might be no obstacle to a woman who could see past it.’

  ‘Tresilian and Sophie? It is an intriguing notion. – But no, I know Tresilian as well as anyone, and I am almost sure that romance is quite dead for him. And even if it were not, I cannot imagine Sophie consenting to the steady, plain sort of life that Tresilian could offer. – There is Kate besides. He cherishes her to such a degree that he would surely not bring a wife to The Ridings, and see Kate relegated to that second place in his duty and affection, which must necessarily be her lot. No, he would not do it.’

  ‘I confess I cannot picture him in the character of a lover: he would be too inclined to laugh at himself; and I suspect a woman generally requires a man who is in love with her to be made satisfyingly miserable by it. But, then, Kate might not be an impediment – Kate might marry also.’

  Valentine did not answer this directly, only shaking his head and remarking: ‘I fear Tresilian shelters her too much: you can plainly see the difference between her and Sophie, in ease and manner. Lady Harriet, of course, I do not mention: it could hardly be expected that she should match that degree of elegance and self-command. It can only be admired, as an example, from a distance.’

  There was no doubting, from Valentine’s look, and the urgent tone in which he pronounced these words, that the admiration he referred to was his own. It suggested more strongly than ever that any lingering attachment to Kate must take its lean chance in the new world opened to his mind by their cousins: even suggested, perha
ps, that when he came to fix his heart, it would be on a woman possessing Lady Harriet’s qualities. That he should fix his heart on Lady Harriet herself was, of course, out of the question: their enterprise of living, bold though it was, surely did not run to impossibilities.

  Chapter VII

  From their first arrival, Sophie had remarked on the inviting views that opened up beyond the park. Certainly Pennacombe House was situated at the foot of some beautiful rolling country – though Sir Clement had always lamented his ancestors’ not building on high ground, presumably because from a hill one could always look down; but, as Louisa knew, the green richness of Devonshire was equally rich in mud for a good part of the year. The strengthening spring continuing dry, however, it was possible now to make an exploring-party without the addition of stilts.

  A family picnic on the downs must be, Louisa supposed, a very mild amusement for someone of Lady Harriet’s experience: yet it was this that occasioned a notable lifting of her spirits. Valentine had just chosen a spot for the laying-out of their collation, and Tom had agreed that it was famous, the very thing, and could not be bettered, when Lady Harriet burst out: ‘No, no – not here.’ With a rueful smile she went on: ‘Forgive me, I know I have no right to dictate – but do look around: we are so beautifully free of the world – except there.’ She pointed to a fold of pasture, above which could just be seen a cottage roof. ‘Is it not a pity? If we were to descend a little further towards that covert, then I think it will be quite out of view – and we shall be free.’

  ‘I’m sure I have no objection,’ Sophie said. ‘But, my dear Harriet, we have walked a fair distance: will you not be tired?’

  ‘Tired? Not in the least. This is so magnificently refreshing – I feel new-made.’ There was indeed a brilliancy in Lady Harriet’s look, a glow in her complexion, that Louisa had not seen before: it was engaging; though she felt it was a little hard on the blameless cottage, which belonged to Mr Tomms the bee-keeper, supplier of excellent honey. ‘But you are too gentle, Sophie, to reproach me as I deserve. At Lyme, Miss Carnell, I was always the first to declare myself fagged: I wanted to walk, and then complained I was unable to walk. I was a great trial to your cousin’s patience. But you need not fear a revival of that vexing creature: she is gone. Mr Carnell, will you indulge me in going a little further?’

  ‘If indulgence were called for, Lady Harriet, I hope you might always depend upon it from me,’ Valentine said, smiling, ‘but as it happens, I think you have chosen best.’

  He gave her his arm as they made the descent; and as the roof was blotted from sight, she cried: ‘There – it is complete. Now there is nothing but us, and the living earth – just as it should be.’

  Her enthusiasm was infectious; though Louisa had to suppress a smile at a notion of wild nature that could be fulfilled in a Devonshire meadow, with the busy Dawlish road just beyond the ridge, and behind them the manservant bringing the laden picnic-basket.

  ‘“Under the greenwood tree, who something something me”, tum-te-tum the weather,’ Tom remarked. ‘Shocking memory for poetry.’

  ‘Now, let us sit down on the grass, with nothing to remind us of the world; and forget everything,’ Lady Harriet said, looking round at them all with rapturous urgency. ‘See if you can do it.’

  ‘Everything?’ cried Sophie. ‘I am afraid there will be nothing left of me.’

  ‘Oh, but there will – there will be the essence, and that is what we so sadly lose.’

  Tom, once his coat-tails were properly arranged, looked as if sitting and thinking of nothing were comfortably within his range of accomplishments.

  ‘Are we not permitted to remember the good things of the world, Lady Harriet?’ Valentine asked, with a look at once smiling and serious. ‘The pleasant, the hopeful – the beautiful?’

  ‘Ah, no,’ said she, shaking her head, ‘they are the most delusive of all.’

  Louisa, in trying to think of nothing, found she had never thought of so many things at once in her life; and was glad when Tom brought the experiment to an end by declaring that he was famished for pigeon-pie.

  Among the countless thoughts that had crowded into her mind, that of Pearce Lynley was not the least prominent. Cold meat and hock effected its temporary banishment; but the unwelcome theme was taken up by Sophie who, drawing closer to her, began: ‘Louisa, do you mind if I ask? Indeed, I don’t know why I say that, because I always do ask. That very impressive gentleman Mr Lynley – is there something in the nature of an attachment? I could not help but observe, when he dined the other day, that he had eyes only for you during the whole evening.’

  ‘I dare say he did,’ Louisa said. ‘The eyes of a strict overseer for an apprentice, perhaps, or a cat for a mouse-hole.’

  ‘Dear me – revealingly expressed,’ laughed Sophie. ‘I was right then to call it something in the nature of an attachment. I confess I did not find him as agreeable as Mr Tresilian – though he is undoubtedly well-bred, and has a great deal of air and address, and is uncommonly handsome; and I take him as having a large fortune.’

  ‘Just so: you have now enumerated all Mr Lynley’s attractions; he could hardly have done it better himself, though I am sure he would be willing to try. I may as well say that Mr Lynley considers there is an attachment: it was a match much promoted by my father, whose feelings about the matter are the only ones Mr Lynley regards as important; and I am tolerably certain that he intends making me his wife, whenever his judgement deems it appropriate.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s how it is! And you intend refusing him, I collect.’

  ‘I would hope I have already given him sufficient hints of my feeling to make a proposal unlikely. But Mr Lynley is not a man to pick up hints: probably it is too much like stooping.’ With a little bubble of irritation, directed less at Sophie than herself, she added: ‘You are about to tell me, perhaps, that I ought to be flattered by the admiration of such a man, even if I cannot return his sentiments.’

  ‘I should hope not,’ Sophie said earnestly. ‘Undoubtedly I would be flattered, because that’s the kind of goose I am; but as you have told me, you have lived retired, and known little society – so I would be more concerned if you were quite overwhelmed by the first eligible man to approach you. There are many more Mr Lynleys in the world, believe me.’

  ‘That is what above all I should not wish to believe. – But come – you don’t mean that you have any inclination towards him?’

  ‘No, no: only that when a man favours me with his attentions, I cannot help liking it, even if I cannot like him. Utterly nonsensical of me, I know. And as for proposals, they are so very exciting – at least, the four I have had were so—’

  ‘Four?’ put in Tom, overhearing. ‘I thought it was three.’

  ‘There was one I didn’t tell you about, and now kindly return to your pie, sir. – No, there is something very beguiling about a proposal: just the proposal in itself, without its leading to anything. For to accept one, of course, is to exclude the possibility of any more.’

  At this Lady Harriet slightly turned her head, and Louisa saw a look both wry and sorrowful cross her face, before she returned her attention to Valentine. He was talking of London – with a very creditable appearance of knowledge for someone who had scarcely been there in his life. Louisa did not take what Sophie had said with entire seriousness: her cousin was habitually light-hearted, which Louisa felt was a different thing from being light-minded; and though Sophie had spoken warmly again of Mr Tresilian, she remained convinced that nothing was to be apprehended in that quarter. – The real imperviousness of Mr Tresilian’s temperament, and the apparent disposition of Sophie to like liberally without feeling deeply, preserved her from any anxiety. But in one regard Louisa found herself unyieldingly serious. She might imitate Sophie’s method of dressing her hair, and even emulate her happy nonchalance towards those great questions of life that Sir Clement had always believed difficult beyond his children’s capacity; but no matter how hard she tried,
the prospect of a proposal from Mr Lynley was not something Louisa could conjure as exciting or beguiling.

  Still, her mind remained supple enough to wriggle away from the question until she was unavoidably confronted with it: which happened the very next day. She had stayed at home while Valentine and their guests took their morning walk, recognising that a consultation with the housekeeper was long overdue; and having looked over the accounts, ordered the meat and flour and candles, and shrugged off the spectre grumbling over her shoulder about their increased spending, she had seated herself with a book when Mr Lynley was announced.

  ‘I am glad of the opportunity to speak to you alone,’ he said, after his usual austere civilities; but what came next, though equally unwelcome, was widely different from what she had anticipated. ‘I am in possession of some intelligence about one of your guests, which, while unpleasant and even abhorrent, I feel I have a duty to communicate to you. The special position towards you and your family in which I have the honour to be placed, by the confidence of your late father, renders it absolutely necessary; not to speak of my own feelings, which are engaged in such a manner that I cannot stand silently by, where I may warn, advise and protect.’

  He left a pause, which she presumed was to be filled with her acknowledgement and gratitude, but Louisa, as much surprised as displeased, gave him only the very limited satisfaction of saying: ‘Go on.’

  ‘I have nothing to say of your cousins: your choosing to acknowledge the relationship is, as I have previously remarked, a matter for you and Mr Carnell to balance between your own inclinations and the wishes of your father. But there is no tie of blood to plead the case of Lady Harriet; and there, I am afraid, you have erred greatly, though I think inadvertently, in receiving her as a guest at Pennacombe, where a scrupulous regard for propriety has always been the admirable rule. – I thought, on first hearing the name of Lady Harriet Eversholt, that I had heard it mentioned in some undesirable connection, but I could not be sure: so I took the trouble of writing a confidential friend in London, who has a broad knowledge of the affairs of the town, to see if he knew anything of her history. I am sorry to be the bearer of this news, Miss Carnell,’ Mr Lynley said, walking to the fireplace, and looking more triumphant than sorry, ‘but Lady Harriet is a woman whose situation is such that even her rank cannot rescue it from disrepute. I should be willing to spare you the details, if you would be content to believe that I have this on the strongest authority, and to accept my word that the acquaintance should not have been begun, and must now be discouraged as far as it lies in your and Mr Carnell’s power.’