CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Accusations
Agnes Wentworth stifled a cry with a white gloved hand, and sank back indecorously into her chair. With the other hand, she opened up her ornate lace fan, and without her usual aplomb, began to flap it agitatedly about her face.
These open signs of restlessness did not escape the attention of her mother, who was sitting beside her, and Louisa quickly leaned over and supportively took hold of Agnes’s hand. ‘What is it, my dear?’ Louisa asked in a caring, maternal tone. ‘You look much affrighted.’
The fan faltered in Agnes’s hand, and in the next moment she was sitting as pale and dormant as a tombstone. Her glazed eyes, however, could not be stilled, and as her cousin and fiancé waltzed gracefully about the ballroom, her eyes followed their every move.
‘Now don’t you go troubling yourself about those two,’ Louisa said. ‘I daresay Michael is only dancing with your cousin because you refused him earlier.’
Agnes pulled her hand away from her mother. ‘You may think that if you wish, but I do not.’
‘Mercy, Agnes! What do you mean by that?’
‘Frances pretended to look surprised when Michael asked her to dance, but I wasn’t fooled for a moment. She has had this dance with Michael planned for days.’
‘How could they have planned it? Frances has not been anywhere near Michael. She’s been here at Wintersleigh all the time.’
‘Port Arthur, Mama. They arranged it on the boat coming home. I am certain of it. Didn’t you see them talking and laughing together? They were inseparable for the entire three hours.’ She snapped shut her fan, and began adjusting her long, white gloves.
‘Well, if that is all you are fretting about then, allow me to set your mind at ease. Really, my dear, there is nothing for you to worry about on that score.’ Louisa patted Agnes’s hand, as though she were soothing a tearful child. ‘The truth is, my dear, I asked Michael to have a word with your cousin.’
‘But what for, Mama?’
‘I was concerned about the amount of time that George was spending with Frances, and I wanted to put a stop to it. I knew that Frances would take no heed of my warnings, so I enlisted Michael’s support. I feel certain that that is what they were discussing on the boat.’
‘For three hours?’
Louisa’s brow clouded with doubt. ‘Yes, yes, I see your point entirely, but please, my dear, do keep your voice down. Every time you speak louder, that wretched George Brearly glances in your direction.’ She sniffed loudly.
‘Where is he?’
‘He is standing beside Charles Green in the doorway. Now, please do not look at him,’ Louisa urged, trying to draw Agnes’s attention back to her. ‘Turn around. He is only trying to provoke you.’
Agnes did as she was bid, and settled back into her chair. ‘I must confess, Mama,’ Agnes said mincingly, ‘that George Brearly is the last thing on my mind. It’s Frances who troubles me the most.’
‘Well I cannot see why, Agnes. Frances, I grant you, is lonely. That is all. Try and look at it from her perspective. As you know, her father died when she was very little, she has no brothers or sisters, and her mother, whom she loves most in the world, is still living in Melbourne. She never discusses her mother with me, which seems rather odd, but she obviously misses her.’
Agnes looked out across the dance floor. The waltz had only just ended and Michael and Frances were standing on the opposite side of the room, talking. ‘I am fatherless too, Mama. Besides, why should I feel sorry for her, when she is the one trying to ruin my happiness?’
‘And how is she doing that?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? She’s trying to destroy my relationship with Michael.’
‘How can you say that, my dear? Frances has only been here a few weeks.’
‘Then she has made good use of her time.’
‘Now, now, Agnes, I think you are being a little unreasonable. You are seeing something that clearly does not exist.’
‘But it is there, Mama!’ Agnes rebelled. ‘It does exist! Haven’t you seen how altered Michael is? He has changed so much!’
Louisa smiled tenderly. ‘Yes, my dear, but so have you.’
Agnes shook her dark head miserably. ‘No, not as much as he has. I can only put it down to Frances’s influence.’
‘My poor Aggie,’ Louisa crooned, ‘you are feeling uptight about the wedding, and you are over-reacting to the smallest things. It is natural and perfectly understandable.’ Again she took hold of Agnes’s hand. ‘Michael and Frances are friends, nothing more. Michael loves you. He wants to marry you, most assuredly.’
‘It’s not true. I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘Agnes,’ Louisa said, growing increasingly concerned, ‘how can you doubt that? How can you doubt that he loves you?’
‘There!’ Agnes retorted, aggressively pointing her fan in Frances and Michael’s direction. ‘What further proof do you require?’ Her hand began to tremble so much that the fan nearly fell from her grasp.
‘Oh my poor Agnes! I don’t know what to say. Tell me how I can comfort you.’
‘I don’t want your comfort, Mama,’ Agnes said resolutely under her breath. ‘All I want is for Frances to be put back in her place.’
Agnes then got to her feet, and stalked away, leaving the air behind her suffused with the sweet scent of rose water and echoes of tinkling bracelets on her gloved wrists. She was, in fact, so determined to leave the ball-room that she momentarily forgot about the now solitary figure of George Brearly, positioned in the doorway. The unpleasant discovery made the colour drain away from her face, but to her credit, she was able to keep her eyes averted and her head held high. Unfortunately for her, George had no intention of letting her pass, and thrusting his arm out across the doorway, he prevented her exit.
‘Get out of the way, George Brearly,’ she commanded.
‘Having a good evening are we?’ he replied, pretending to ignore her acerbic tone.
Agnes tucked a fallen ringlet behind her ear, and taking a deep breath, she bravely transferred her gaze to his. ‘I’m having the time of my life,’ she lied, ‘now let me pass.’
‘Liar. Now, what’s the magic word?’
‘Imbecile, now move aside.’
‘A pleasing effort,’ George came back with, ‘but I’m afraid it’s not the right word. Would you care to try again?’
‘The only thing I care about, at this point in time, is getting away from you.’
The taunting smile on George’s lips began to melt away. ‘Now, now, Miss Wentworth. There’s no need to be so disagreeable.’ Agnes faltered and George soon pounced on her silence. ‘Let’s change the subject, before you unleash your magnificent temper on me. Let’s talk about your mother and the heated discussion you were just having with her.’
‘Please, George, just let me through.’
‘I see. Another less delicate subject, perhaps.’ He inclined his head, as if he was deep in thought. ‘I know, how about I tell you all about the eventful evening I’ve had tonight.’ When Agnes made no word of protest, he went on. ‘Firstly, your bewitching cousin insulted me while we were dancing, then my brother made a spectacle of himself by dancing with his fiancée’s cousin and not his fiancée, and last of all, my dear nephew Jack got into some scrape with one of the neighbour’s children. He stole her piece of chocolate cake, or some such nonsense. It was quite tense there at one point, until I gave Jack some suggestions on how to handle members of the opposite sex.’ There was a flicker of amusement about his lips.
‘And what makes you think that you’re qualified to teach him such things? If you ask me for my opinion, you’re the last person in the world to be giving advice about women. You are the most childish, insensitive person I have ever had the misfortune to meet.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve heard all this before.’
‘And what is more, George Brearly, you have absolutely no understanding of women.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ he retorted ind
ignantly. ‘That is simply not true. I consider myself to be an expert in women’s feelings.’ He ignored the sound of Agnes’s scoffing and continued to glare at her with penetrating eyes. ‘I know only too well the true nature of womankind. I have been witness to the games they play. I see their impetuosity, their deviousness, their fickleness and, most importantly, I have witnessed first hand, woman’s innate ability to torment men.’
Agnes gasped in disbelief. ‘We torment men?’ she repeated. ‘George Brearly, how can you say such things? And yet you say it so unreservedly! I am quite appalled!’ She shook her head in incredulity. ‘How wrong you are! I should say that it is the other way around. Men torment women—Now, I won’t ask you again. Get out of the way.’
George reluctantly let his arm drop, but no sooner had Agnes moved forward, he caught hold of one of her hands, and drew her nearer to him. ‘I’ll let you go this once, Agnes Wentworth,’ George murmured into her ear, ‘but never again.’
Agnes’s bottom lip dropped open in amazement, and it was some time before she was able to regain her composure. Once her breathing had settled into its habitual regularity, she looked up into his eyes and read the message that he wanted her alone to read. He made no attempt to disguise his meaning. The only thing now that was unclear was the ambiguity of her own feelings.
Breakfast at Midnight Page 36