Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground

by Catherine Bowness

  As a consequence of their former careers, they were not greeted with affability by everyone they met; indeed they were not greeted at all by the ladies of the ton, who not only cut them dead but diverted the attention of any girls in their charge as soon as they saw them. This had the reverse effect to the one the matrons sought in that the girls became fascinated by the sight of two improper females driving boldly in the Park for all to see.

  One of those who turned her face away was Lady Sullington, who was driving her phaeton with her daughter beside her.

  Cassie, aware that everyone was looking at her, even if many of them turned away at the last moment, stared curiously at the girl. Close to, she was able to see that she was an uncommonly pretty young woman with fair curls and large blue eyes. In spite of these attributes, she did not look happy; indeed, her pretty mouth had a distinctly sulky look.

  The mother, clearly a notable whip, was handling the horses with great skill but looked even more disagreeable than Cassie remembered. Her expression was so extraordinarily sour that Cassie’s mouth dried at the sight of her. The Sullington females were looking in opposite directions, hinting at an earlier argument which had not yet been resolved. The sullen face of the girl and the disagreeable one of the woman made it unlikely that anyone would stop to greet them for fear of getting their heads bitten off.

  “I do not think her horses are a patch on mine,” Mrs Farley observed with satisfaction as they passed each other.

  “Probably not; I am not an expert on horseflesh,” Cassie replied. “They do not look happy.”

  “The horses? Or the females?”

  Cassie laughed. “The females. I should think they have had a disagreement about something – Mr Harbury probably.”

  “Or the Duke; well, I suppose that is in point of fact the same subject. If they have just met either of those gentlemen they must be going the same way as we, in which case we shall not meet them. We will turn round. Hayes,” Mrs Farley leaned forward to address the coachman, “We should like to go the other way. Would you turn round please?”

  Turning round at this time of the afternoon was no easy matter on account of the vast number of carriages, phaetons and riders cramming the paths, and Hayes’s attempt to do so held several people up, to the amusement of a group of young men on horseback. They were not in the least put out but delighted to have the opportunity to issue a great many instructions to the now hugely embarrassed coachman.

  It was only shortly after the turn had been completed and the barouche was moving forward in the opposite direction that Lord Furzeby and his nephew hove into view. They were on horseback but Lord Marklye was not with them.

  The two men drew up at once. “It is a fine afternoon for taking the air, is it not?” Lord Furzeby asked genially, removing his hat and bowing quite as though the two had been ladies.

  “Did you see Miss Sullington?” Mr Harbury enquired eagerly, barely waiting for a reply before rushing on, “We were speaking to her only a few minutes ago.”

  “We saw them,” Cassie acknowledged, “but we did not speak.”

  Lord Furzeby smiled. “They were not speaking to each other when we came upon them and barely paused to exchange a how-de-do with us. James tried to engage Miss Sullington in conversation and she did become more animated when she saw him – even going so far as to smile, briefly - but her ladyship drove on with barely a pause so I do not think it quite accurate to say that we were speaking to them.”

  “I am afraid her mama had been chastising Miss Sullington,” Mr Harbury said, fixing his eyes on Cassie’s sympathetic countenance. “Her ladyship seemed exceedingly angry and I could not help noticing that Miss Sullington looked as though she had been crying.”

  “Oh, dear,” Cassie said. “I wonder what can have caused them to fall out with each other.”

  “A difference of opinion over Miss Sullington’s suitors, I should imagine,” Lord Furzeby interjected cynically.

  “She is an angel!” Mr Harbury exclaimed passionately. “She will not bow to her mama’s orders to marry high where she does not love!”

  “But she will not be permitted to marry lower,” Lord Furzeby pointed out.

  “If that should prove to be the case, we shall be forced to elope!” Mr Harbury declared, throwing caution to the winds.

  “Oh, no, pray do not!” Cassie cried, intervening hastily. Although she did not doubt that Mr Harbury was a well-meaning young man and believed himself to be violently in love with Miss Sullington, yet she could not help recalling how horridly she had been deceived when she had believed herself to be embarking upon an elopement. And, even were they to make directly for the border and plight their troths there, such a venture would not be to Miss Sullington’s advantage. Cassie, having some knowledge of the mother’s character as well as her husband’s, thought it quite likely that the girl would be disinherited if she did anything so foolish.

  “No, indeed! It would be foolish and premature,” Lord Furzeby agreed soberly. “You are both very young and should not be too hasty in any venture, particularly one that will have far-reaching consequences.”

  “But only think how Miss Sullington will suffer!” Mr Harbury argued, flushing with anger. “Her mama will wear my poor love down so that she will be obliged to accept the Duke in the end. What gently bred innocent girl can be expected to hold out against her parent’s wishes? She will be subjected to the most terrible persecution.”

  “But she will have the support of the estimable Miss Holmdale,” Lord Furzeby unexpectedly pointed out. “She did not strike me as the kind of female who will allow either herself or her pupil to be browbeaten; I am convinced that she is sufficiently discerning to decide for herself where Miss Sullington’s best interests lie.”

  “Best interests?” Mr Harbury cried, about to embark upon another diatribe against the Duke and the injustice of his worldly advantages.

  “Miss Holmdale?” Cassie asked, her voice, somewhat raised, cutting across Mr Harbury’s.

  “She is Miss Sullington’s governess – or, I suppose I should say, her companion now that the young lady has left the schoolroom,” Lord Furzeby explained.

  “Oh, she is the most delightful person!” Mr Harbury exclaimed enthusiastically, departing surprisingly quickly from his favourite subject. “She was good enough to permit Miss Sullington to eat an ice with me in Gunter’s a few days ago. Of course she came too – as did you, Uncle. Where did you appear from? You were not with me when I first met them. I was driving past in my curricle and jumped out at once when I saw Miss Sullington.”

  “I was walking up Bond Street when I perceived Miss Holmdale on her knees in front of Rother. Miss Sullington was nowhere to be seen at the time. I believe you had gone on ahead and did not notice that poor Miss Holmdale was not following. I helped her up and tried to put her into a hackney, but she insisted that she must follow you to Gunter’s. That is how I came to be there.”

  “On her knees in front of Rother?” Cassie asked faintly.

  “Yes, she must have tripped,” Lord Furzeby murmured.

  “But why did he not pick her up?”

  “I am sure he was about to do so but I pushed in and did so before he was able to raise her to her feet,” Lord Furzeby explained, beginning to perceive that a difficulty was rapidly arising and trying to head it off before it led to a full-scale scene of some kind. He had already decided, some time ago, that mention of the Duke should at all costs be avoided in Cassie’s presence.

  “She must be excessively pretty if you rushed to her aid even before Rother could help her,” Cassie observed. “I wonder how many other men were competing to get her upon her legs again.”

  Lord Furzeby, who was beginning to wish that he had cut out his tongue before embarking on this particular story, did his best to make light – and indeed sense – of a very odd scene but found himself floundering.

  “I saw a lady in distress,” he said, “and naturally went to help her.”

  “I hope she was
not hurt,” Mrs Farley put in, trying to steer the conversation away from the Duke. “Was she able to walk the remainder of the way to Gunter’s?”

  “I believe she was hurt,” Lord Furzeby said. “She was limping but, as I said, she would not allow me to call a hackney. We supported her down Bond Street and found the two young people already ensconced when we reached Gunter’s. I sent both her and Miss Sullington home in a hackney when we left.”

  “We?” Cassie asked. “Did Rother go to Gunter’s too?”

  “Oh, yes, he did.” It was Mr Harbury who admitted this, Lord Furzeby having become reluctant to say anything further on the subject since his careless use of the word ‘we’. His earlier attempt to mitigate the unfortunate picture which Cassie had formed seeming to have made matters worse, he thought it best to keep his lips closed.

  “Although I can’t think why he bothered for he hardly spoke,” Mr Harbury went on. “There was an unpleasant atmosphere when he first sat down. Miss Sullington, who is such an amiable person, was quite put out and commanded him and the governess to make friends. It was fairly clear that they had known each other before and parted on bad terms,” he added in explanation.

  “Is she very fair?” Cassie asked through trembling lips.

  “Fair? Do you mean: is she pretty?” Mr Harbury asked. “Yes, exceedingly so, particularly when you consider that she was dressed in the most unbecoming manner. I own I was much struck by her looks. She seemed to me to be the embodiment of the little girl described in that story written by the Grimm brothers a few years ago - the one with ‘hair as black as ebony and lips as red as blood’. I remember it because it was rather horrifying in places. It is the child’s mother …”

  “Snow White,” Lord Furzeby supplied in a damping tone.

  “Oh yes, she has ‘skin as white as snow’ too, does she not? I was a boy when it was published and I remember thinking that she must have been rather startling to look at: excessively white skin, red lips and black hair. Not a type I admire: rather too dramatic for my taste.”

  “Not even then? You can’t have been more than fourteen,” his uncle said, trying to make a joke of a subject which was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “It is quite clear that you admire different colouring now.”

  This achieved what his lordship had been manoeuvring towards for some time. Mr Harbury was instantly diverted and fell into eulogies of his love’s ethereally pale curls and eyes of the softest blue. Lord Furzeby, smiling conspiratorially at the two women, was able to bear him away still waxing lyrical on Miss Sullington’s appearance. He had seemingly quite forgotten Miss Holmdale’s remarkable looks.

  This was by no means the case for the women.

  “It is she!” Cassie exclaimed in a tone quite as wild as Mr Harbury’s.

  “Yes, I daresay,” Mrs Farley admitted. “But, really, my dear, what does it matter?”

  “What does it matter?” Cassie repeated with heavy emphasis, her voice rising to a note barely below hysteria. “She is dark! She is not in the least like me! I was not even a substitute.”

  “Of course you were not,” Mrs Farley replied quite sharply. “When you first met him she was a child. You had him first.”

  “She took him from me!” Cassie cried.

  “Pray do not keep shrieking in that uncontrolled manner,” Mrs Farley besought her friend. “Everyone is looking at us – and not to admire our bonnets, nor yet our faces.” She leaned forward and tapped the coachman on the shoulder. “We should like to go home as quickly as possible but not so fast that people will think we are running away.”

  Chapter 19

  Cassie, driven to further frenzy by her friend’s lack of sympathy, stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop the screams. This childish gesture resulted in a series of groans and hiccoughs; her face grew red and large tears spouted from her eyes.

  “My dear, you must master yourself at once,” Mrs Farley hissed. She looked round, saw that there was no one close at present and administered a sharp slap to her companion’s face.

  This had at first the desired effect in that the fist fell from Cassie’s mouth, the groans ceased, the tear-spattered eyes opened wide with shock, followed a moment later by the no longer fist-filled mouth. Mrs Farley noted these dramatic effects with despair but, never one to take things lying down, added crudely, “Stow it! It’s time you grew up, Cassie. You cannot have everything your own way.”

  By this time the barouche had turned out of the gates and they were travelling along the road in the direction of Mrs Farley’s house. She heaved a sigh of relief for, if Cassie could no longer be controlled and were to fall into a full fit of hysteria, at least they were no longer within sight of the fashionable world. A discarded mistress indulging in a distempered freak in the Park would be food for gossip for several days.

  “I have never had anything my own way!” Cassie sobbed, now weeping piteously, with her hands over her face.

  “And nor will you if you do not make an effort!” Mrs Farley admonished her. “Do you think to get what you want without stirring from the sofa? Do you expect it to come to you, delivered on a plate? Pray do not be absurd. He has gone and you will be obliged to accept it. I really cannot see that it matters a jot whether it is in marriage to Miss Sullington or to mope after Snow White.”

  “You said yourself that he would likely come back if he marries Miss Sullington,” Cassie wailed, feeling the betrayal of her friend’s promise keenly.

  “Well, I have changed my mind. I should not think he would be at all likely to come back – ever – if you are in the habit of enacting him Cheltenham tragedies of this sort. It is a wonder to me that he has stayed as long as he has.”

  “Oh! Oh!” Cassie groaned. “How can you be so cruel?”

  “I am not – and, if I am, it is high time somebody told you how it is. Come along, we are at your house now. Let us go inside at once.”

  Cassie stumbled up the steps, her head bent and one arm firmly grasped by Mrs Farley, who led her straight into the small saloon near the front door and ordered wine to be brought at once as Miss Minton was feeling unwell.

  When the wine arrived, Prue almost snatched the tray from the butler and poured it out herself. She put a glass into Cassie’s hand.

  “Drink it up at once,” she commanded as though afraid that, if the sufferer did not, she might be unable to draw another breath.

  Cassie did as she was bid, setting the glass down empty and leaning back in the chair, her face alarmingly red and swollen as though her rage were bursting to escape.

  “Now,” Mrs Farley said, “take off your bonnet, sit up straight and listen to me.”

  Cassie said humbly, “I am sorry, Prue, to have behaved with such a want of conduct. I daresay you will not wish to speak to me again as long as you live.”

  “Pray do not be absurd!” Mrs Farley snapped. “Did you think that I would desert you because you have given way to strong emotion? I spoke harshly just now because I did not want you to make a spectacle of yourself. I have a great deal of sympathy for you but I meant it when I said that you must pull yourself together and take charge of your life. Your conduct whenever the Duke’s name is mentioned is preposterous. Everyone knows that he has cast you off; do you wish them all to laugh at you for being unable to deal with it? He was bound to do so eventually, as I have told you before. You must put him out of your mind, raise your chin and stare them all out.”

  “But that she should be here – in London – and that even Mr Harbury, whose mind I had thought entirely taken up with Miss Sullington, should have been so affected by her – that is too mortifying. How can I bear it? I wish she would go.”

  “I daresay she will, in time. She is only a governess; no one will notice her.”

  “But he has! And so has Mr Harbury. How can we get her to go away at once? I cannot bear that she should be here.”

  “There seem to be a good many things you cannot bear. The truth is that you will have to bear them – all of them – or a
t least most of them. She is nothing to you. Why in the world does it matter if the Duke still hankers after her? It will make no odds to you and he will soon look a fool when people see him dangling after a governess.” Mrs Farley rose and refilled Cassie’s glass. “Drink that and then I think you should go to bed for a while.”

  “Yes, very well, I will,” Cassie agreed, no longer comforted by Prue’s presence but, on the contrary, irritated almost beyond endurance by the lectures that Mrs Farley seemed to feel it her duty to read to her poor deserted friend. She wanted to be alone with her despair. She drained the contents of the glass, stood up and tottered unsteadily towards the door. “Thank you, Prue,” she said, striving to behave properly although she felt ready to choke at being obliged to express gratitude for what she considered Prue’s startling lack of sympathy in her hour of need. “I do not know what I should do without you,” she added, thinking that whatever it was would be better than being treated like a difficult child.

  “Cast yourself in the river, I should think,” Mrs Farley muttered beneath her breath, rising to leave.

  Cassie heard the remark and found herself wondering if her friend had prefaced it with the words ‘why not’, uttered so sotto voce that they had been inaudible even to one with such acute hearing as Cassie; it seemed to her that that was what Prue thought and that her friend was angered by her jealousy as well as by what she considered her spineless inability to abandon hope of the Duke returning to her. She knew that Prue meant well, was fond of her and wished to help but she felt, as she had all her life, misunderstood.

  Prue, it seemed to her, was made of stronger metal – or at least she was so much less inclined to self-castigation that she appeared to suffer none of the soul-destroying doubts which beset Cassie. Mrs Farley had led a hard life, quite as hard as Cassie’s, but had managed by her own efforts, together with a strong dash of luck, in Cassie’s opinion, to set herself up for a comfortable old age.