“I can finish it indoors.”
She put up her pencil and closed the book before going to him. He had cast off the blanket and was trying to stand by leaning on his stick and pushing himself up from the chair.
“Dammit!” he exclaimed. “I’m still as weak as a baby. Go and fetch Jess – she’s a strong enough wench to give me her arm.”
She shook her head. “No, I am sure we can manage. I am stronger than I look. We fell over before because I was not expecting you to be so heavy and was taken by surprise.”
“Heavy, eh? Is that meant as a compliment? Come here then and take my hand. I will lean on the stick but you can help to steady me.”
She held out her hand and he grasped it. His was very cold and she felt guilty for keeping him out so long. Looking up at his face, she saw that his skin was so pale and transparent it was almost mauve and his lips were blue.
She planted her feet firmly apart, determined to hold her ground, and he managed to get to his feet although, having arrived there, he seemed to be shaking like a blancmanger, she presumed with cold.
“There!” he said through lips which trembled.
“Well done, sir! Shall we go?” she asked, retaining hold of his hand although he attempted to withdraw it.
“Yes, lead on, Miss Helman! Whither thou goest, I will go!”
And so she led him, his hand in hers, back into the house and deposited him in a chair beside the unlit fire. She thought, as she bent to set a match to it, that, odious though he might be, he had a curiously appealing side to him.
“You had better fetch your sketchbook,” he said, “for the sky is growing darker and I fear it may rain soon.”
“Yes, I will go now. Shall I order some hot tea to revive you?”
“I can do that myself if you will but pull the bell before you go.”
Chapter 24
By the time Louisa retired to her room that night she was feeling happier and more stimulated than she had for many years. She was not a woman much accustomed to pondering upon her day or analysing her feelings, possibly because they had rarely been thwarted. Having a pair of devoted parents for whom her happiness was paramount and neither brothers nor sisters, she had never been forced to give way to other people’s demands. Her mother’s constant refrain that she should find a husband – and did she not like this gentleman or that – impinged little on her comfort because she found it easy to brush off and knew besides that, unless and until she did meet a gentleman she liked, no heavier pressure would be exerted upon her.
She had been teased, some would say bullied, at school on account of her father’s background but, since she took after him in a number of ways, she brushed this off too, affecting a haughty disdain for such petty cruelty. It would not perhaps have been quite so easy if she had not, ever since she first set foot in the select establishment, been able to rely upon the loyalty and friendship of Agnes Helman.
Agnes was, therefore, aside from her parents, the person to whom she was most devoted; her provision of a cottage on the estate for her impecunious friend had been a source of some pride and pleasure to her. To have her only a mile or two distant was all that Louisa had wanted at the time she had made the arrangements.
She had on this account been willing, indeed eager, to invite Mr Armitage to join the party of tonnish persons her mother had assembled and had waved aside the objections Agnes had raised as to any future embarrassment if Sir John turned up. Like everyone else, she had not expected him to survive his unwise expedition to Africa and had as a consequence chosen to ignore the connection between her new tenant and her cast-off suitor.
So far she had had no reason to regret the presence of Lady Armitage in the cottage for she was still of the opinion that the elder son was more than likely to die soon.
It was, unfortunately, another matter where Agnes was concerned. The friend upon whom she had relied for support at school and for whom she could, until the Marquess of Danehill arrived, never have done enough, had suddenly and unexpectedly metamorphosed from mousey little friend to dazzling rival.
She did not believe that he had stood up with Agnes for the first dance, nor taken her into his arms for the waltz, purely in order to annoy her, Louisa; he had done these things because he was taken with the quiet little parson’s daughter. And, because he had shown this early interest in the girl, all the other men had noticed her and vied with each other to lead her on to the floor.
So far as Louisa was concerned, Agnes was welcome to every one of these other gentlemen and she sincerely hoped that her friend might form an attachment to one, perhaps to the Viscount, for if she, Louisa, were to marry the Marquess, it would be delightful if her friend were at the same time to become a Viscountess. But, no, it was the Marquess who was clearly épris.
Agnes’s absence from the party that evening had been remarked upon by several gentlemen with regret but it was Danehill who seemed particularly disappointed. His joining her at the pianoforte and his soulful rendition of the popular song had been, she was convinced, performed ironically. He had been quite happy to flirt with her but she knew that that was all it was – and that he would not even have bothered with that if her friend had been present. She found herself hoping that, if Agnes could be prevailed upon to remain in the cottage most of the time, he might be induced to forget her.
As this disagreeable thought passed through her mind, she wondered how she could have come to such a pass that she hoped her dearest friend would stay away so that she, Louisa, could pick up the discarded suitor and take her mousey little friend’s place in his affections. Why in the world was he so taken with Agnes? She was neither beautiful nor witty and she was, or she had told Louisa she was, not so much indifferent to him as afraid of him. She had described him as ‘sinister’. Probably, Louisa thought with irritation, it was Agnes’s dislike of him which had prompted his interest: she presented him with a challenge to which he was no doubt unaccustomed.
And Agnes? Perhaps she had only warned Louisa against him because she wanted him for herself. If Agnes did like Danehill – and clearly he liked her – was Louisa, for love of her friend, prepared to give him up? No, she thought with an almost vicious little stab of resentment, she was not although, unfortunately, he was not hers to dispose of; he was, apparently, Agnes’s - and would she be prepared to cede him to Louisa? She doubted it, even if he had been the sort of man who could be passed around by affectionate friends; after all, her friend had nothing and was hardly likely to pass up a Marquess when one fell into her lap.
Having only a few days earlier sworn that she had no wish to marry, she found now that this was her dearest ambition although it still remained the case that it was not marriage per se which attracted her, but the Marquess. She did not want any of the other men, not even the pleasant Viscount or the agreeable Mr Armitage. She wanted the Marquess and she wanted him very much indeed.
She went to bed in something of a miff as a consequence of this unfortunate state of affairs and rose the following morning not at all reconciled to the possibility that Agnes might grace the party with her presence later. She would surely not come up in the morning – and would therefore miss the planned expedition to a nearby ruin – but she was almost bound to turn up for dinner and, unless Louisa could think of something else to do afterwards than dance, would no doubt stand up with the Marquess again.
Louisa, who was not generally particularly interested in her appearance, spent some time trying on one dress after another until she found one with which she was, if not happy, at least not positively unhappy and finally went down to breakfast late and in a bad mood.
She had barely sat down and taken a sip of her coffee when the butler informed her that Miss Helman had arrived and that he had put her in the small saloon to await Miss Newbolt’s pleasure.
“Oh, thank you. Will you take her some coffee, please, and assure her that I will be with her directly.”
“Miss Helman? Will she be joining us on our outing?” the Ma
rquess asked, hearing this exchange.
“I certainly hope so,” Louisa replied with an assumption of pleasure which did not, even to her own ears, ring true. She drank her coffee so rapidly that it burned her throat and jumped up from her chair. She did not think she could bear to hear his lordship embark upon another paeon of praise to her friend.
When she went into the small saloon she found Agnes was at that very moment being served coffee and waited, standing, until the butler had left the room.
“Good morning, my dear,” she said, coming forward and bestowing a kiss on her friend’s cheek.
Agnes rose to receive and return it so that Louisa found herself wondering which of them more nearly resembled Judas.
“I don’t suppose you were expecting me so early in the morning,” Agnes began with a somewhat nervous expression.
“No, but it is always a pleasure to see you,” Louisa said rather stiffly for she was, probably for the first time in her life, wishing not to see her friend.
“The thing is,” Agnes began.
“Sit down; finish your coffee,” Louisa said, her heart already softening as she perceived her friend’s uncertainty. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes. Did I interrupt yours?”
“I own you did, but it is of no matter; I can return to it in a moment. I am afraid I did not get up very early this morning.”
“I expect that was on account of whatever entertainment there was last night,” Agnes suggested with an affectionate smile.
Louisa thought, but did not say, that it was on account of her difficulty in getting to sleep because she had spent a large portion of the night almost wishing her friend ill.
“We did not dance,” she said.
“Oh. Well, the thing is that I have been dismissed from my post and wondered if you would mind if I moved back with you for a short time,” Agnes said in a rush.
“Been dismissed? Why? Who has done such a thing – surely not Lady Armitage?”
“No; it was Sir John; he pointed out that, now he is home, his mother requires no other companion. In any event, there are not enough bedrooms for everyone. I quite see his point,” she added, reading her friend’s expression, “and I am certain that, if you have not room enough for me with all these people, I can stay where I am until I have found another position.”
“Another position? My God – devil take him – if that is not typical of the man!” Louisa exclaimed vulgarly, whipping herself into something approaching outrage, perhaps more on account of the imminent arrival of her friend within her own walls than because of the insult done to her.
Agnes said nothing for she did not see that there was anything useful she could say. She had defended Sir John, rather weakly it was true, and made her own position plain; now she must await Louisa’s decision.
Louisa, meanwhile, was wrestling with her conscience; the last person she wished to be on hand all the time was Agnes, particularly if that sweet, mousey little person was to be here as a result of having been laid off. Such a predicament was bound to prompt every gallant notion that Lord Danehill would be able to muster and Miss Helman would be the Marchioness by Christmas.
“Yes, of course you must come at once!” Louisa said at last, ceding defeat. “Did I not say you should move in before?”
“Yes, but that was with Lady Armitage. Are you certain that it does not put you out? Distort your numbers?”
“Good lord, no! Have you brought your baggage with you? We are setting out on a picnic in an hour or two – will you be ready to come with us? You shall go straight back to your own room where you will find your dress, freshly laundered and hanging in the closet.” Now that Louisa had done what she believed to be the right thing, she was, momentarily, so relieved that she felt an access of increased affection for her friend.
“Oh, thank you, darling Louisa! I knew I might rely upon you,” Agnes cried, flinging her arms around the other. “No,” she went on, “I have not brought anything with me – that would have been dreadfully presumptuous. I did, though, do most of my packing last night because I knew I must go somewhere so that my trunk is ready to be collected if you can spare someone to fetch it.”
“It shall be done immediately,” Louisa said, gratified to have been able to do something for her friend and for the moment warmly disposed towards her. “Now, will you come and eat another breakfast with everyone?” she went on expansively.
“Thank you. There is one other thing I should perhaps mention before I see everyone else: you may remember our discussing my taking up a new career of portrait-painting. Indeed, it was you who gave me the idea! Since then I have been practising my skills on Lady Armitage and I own she was quite complimentary about my efforts.”
“Yes,” Louisa said doubtfully, remembering the conversation perfectly well.
“I wondered if perhaps I could – just for the time being - become a sort of artist-in-residence, as we discussed, and do sketches of your guests,” Agnes said hesitatingly. “I thought I could do some as people are talking and dancing and so forth, and then, later, I hoped people might want to buy them.”
“Ply a sort of trade?” Louisa asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Well, yes, I suppose so. The thing is that I do have a certain facility for drawing people and – and I thought I might be able to turn it to good account. If you think my suggestion is quite beyond the pale, I shall perfectly understand. It is a little discourteous, I suppose.”
Louisa stared at her friend and thought that she was beginning to see why a man such as the Marquess might find her appealing. Behind the delicate little face, the ‘wild flower’ beauty – as she herself had described it – there beat a brave little heart and a determined spirit.
“I think it an excellent notion,” she said firmly. “Why, in no time you’ll be in trade too – just like Papa! You might become Society’s most fashionable painter!”
Agnes smiled rather shyly. She could see that Louisa was surprised – and in fact not altogether pleased - by this sudden turn towards a potentially far more lucrative career than being companion to an old lady.
“If you haven’t brought any clothes with you, I hope you have at least had the sense to pack your sketchbook and pencils,” Louisa went on. “You can begin during the picnic; I am sure there will be plenty of inspiration there.”
“Truly? You truly do not mind? Yes, I have brought it,” Agnes admitted, indicating the bag at her feet.
“Then you can begin at once. Now, I would like to eat my breakfast and I don’t suppose you would mind joining me. After all, you will need to keep your strength up if you are to embark upon a new career.”
The two young women repaired at once to the small dining room where breakfast was still under way and Louisa explained that Agnes had decided to move in for a time and would be coming on the expedition.
The guests, particularly the gentlemen, exclaimed with what seemed to Louisa to be excessive pleasure at this prospect and the Marquess at once stood up and offered his seat to Agnes.
“But you are still drinking your coffee,” she protested.
“No, I have finished it,” he replied, swallowing it rapidly. “We all missed you yesterday,” he added, smiling at her.
“You are very kind,” she murmured.
“Oh, it is not kindness; your absence was noted with disappointment,” he insisted.
Louisa sat down in her original place, which was now beside Agnes and said to the Marquess, “Perhaps you would be so good as to fetch me something to eat. Since we seem to be engaged in a form of musical chairs, I am afraid that, if I stand up again, I may lose my place.”
“Of course,” he replied at once. “What would you like? I do not feel I know you well enough to choose for you.”
“I am surprised to hear you say that,” she retorted. “I was convinced that you would have your own notion of what I should eat for breakfast.”
“Oh no,” he replied smoothly with a rather devilish grin, “deciding on oth
er people’s preferences is surely more your line than mine. Are you sure you trust me to make the right choice?”
“I suppose I must; after all, if I do not like it, I am not compelled to eat it.”
“Indeed,” he agreed pleasantly, moving away.
Louisa glared after him; the imputation was not lost on her and she fumed, determined now not to eat the merest crumb of whatever he put upon her plate. Agnes, she observed, was happily in conversation with the Viscount on her other side.
“I have brought you a little of everything,” Danehill said, coming back with a heavily loaded plate, “so that there will be no excuse for you to refuse to eat a morsel.”
“I would not dream of behaving in such a childish manner,” Louisa snapped, beginning to eat.
“Have you planned how we shall drive to the castle?” he asked. “Who shall go with whom?”
“I daresay my mama will have allocated places.”
“I hope there will be room for Miss Helman,” he said, “in spite of her not having been expected to be of the party. I will see if I can find Mrs Newbolt and put her in the picture.”
“Thank you,” Louisa said with a pitiful attempt at grace. She was certain her mother would have arranged for her to travel with Lord Danehill; now she supposed she would be obliged to share the carriage with Agnes as well.
Chapter 25
It turned out that, much as Mrs Newbolt wished to encourage romantic feelings between the Marquess and her daughter, she had not gone so far as to plan for them to travel alone. They were to go in the new barouche-landau with her and the Viscount. When told that Agnes was to be of the party, she rearranged the seating so that Agnes and Louisa would travel with the Marquess and Hersham, thus, she hoped, setting up Agnes with the Viscount. A picnic was to be taken so that, when everybody had walked around and exclaimed enough - and perhaps found a suitably sheltered part of the ruins to continue a flirtation that might have been begun on the dance floor - they could sit down on rugs and enjoy a cold collation.
Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 20