Lady Middlebury turned her proud face and hawkish eyes upon Caroline, who did not shrink back.
“Who are you?” Lady Middlebury asked with a wave of her hand. “I have already forgotten.”
“Caroline Bingley, my lady.”
“Ah. And who is your family?” she asked. Lady Middlebury inclined her head as if interested, but really, the posture was designed to intimidate. The feathers on her bonnet blew in the breeze and almost hit Caroline in the face.
“My brother, Charles Bingley, is the head of our family.” Upon the shake of Lady Middlebury’s head, Caroline added, “He travels often with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.”
“Ah! Yes, I have heard of Mr. Darcy of course. A fine family and so very rich—”
Caroline had not the patience to hear her next words. “You will excuse me,” she interrupted, “but we must be off this minute.”
“Of course, be off,” the viscountess said and then turned to Rosemary to add, “I shall make your presence in Town known, my dear. There are some who will be rather anxious to find you.”
Caroline took Rosemary’s hand, and together they walked down Davies Street and turned onto Grosvenor Street before they broke their silence.
“Thank you, Miss Bingley,” Rosemary whispered, though there was no one about to overhear her.
Caroline pulled her hand away and wheeled on her. “I do not know what I was thinking to adopt that tone with a viscount’s wife! I should never have spoken as I did.”
“Still, I thank you,” Rosemary said softly. “You have no idea the embarrassment you saved me.”
Caroline could also not guess the motivations for her own actions. She was no great friend of Rosemary, but seeing her thus abused had been too much! If anyone were to abuse her, by rights, it ought to be Caroline herself.
“What is this great embarrassment?” she demanded. “I must know.”
Rosemary began to walk again, leaving Caroline to trail after her. “I would prefer not to say.”
“I insist that you do, for I did not just insult a titled lady for no reason.”
“I did not ask it of you, Miss Bingley; nor shall I share my secrets unless it is absolutely required. And it is not yet absolutely required.”
Caroline stopped and stared after Rosemary, who continued to walk all the way to Mr. Rushton’s house and disappeared within.
Caroline sat on a vacant bench and wondered at herself. Ever since her brother had banished her to Kendal, she had begun to say and do the oddest things. She had confessed part of her secret shame to a tradesman and defended her servant before a noble. It was as if she were suddenly possessed and unable to control her impulses. The Caroline of old would have ignored the tradesman and taken up the part of the titled lady, but she had done the opposite.
Caroline was quite put out to discover the resurgence of her country morals, especially the day before she was to visit Vauxhall Gardens with Mr. Charlton.
Seventeen
“Good morning, my dear,” Mrs. Newton said as she entered Caroline’s bedchamber the following morning, dismissed her maid, and took up the task of helping her daughter prepare for the day. “I am so very pleased that you insisted I come with you to London. Now that I have left Kendal, I am eager to see more of our fine country.”
“I am so happy, Mama, that travel agrees with you.”
“Tonight, Mr. Newton has promised to take me to the theater,” she said as she added pearl-encrusted combs to Caroline’s hair, “and though such entertainments have quite a reputation, he assures me I will be diverted. Will you not join us?”
“I fear I cannot, Mama, for Lavinia has asked me to dine with her this evening,” Caroline said. It was not quite a lie, but also not the truth either. Undoubtedly, she would dine with Lavinia at Vauxhall, but Mr. Charlton had issued the invitation and not his sister.
“Oh?” Mrs. Newton smiled. “I did not know you had spoken with her since arriving in London. I am so pleased that you have found one another.”
“We met yesterday at Berkeley Square,” Caroline lied again.
“And Mrs. Pickersgill? Does she dine with you as well?”
Here was Caroline’s opportunity to shed herself of her companion. It would be simple to tell her mother that the invitation had not been extended, but something within Caroline prevented her from saying so. And she despised that part of her—that country aspect—that niggled at her.
She had no wish to navigate Vauxhall, with all its dark walks and hideaways, on her own. It was all so distasteful, though she would never admit as much aloud.
Oh! She clenched her fists at her own turn of thought. How she wished to conform to polite society!
She simply could not manage it completely.
“Yes, Mama,” Caroline said on a sigh of surrender, “she will dine with us as well.”
“I am pleased to hear it, but…” Here Mrs. Newton trailed off and then began again. “Our Mrs. Pickersgill has seemed rather odd since our arrival in London, do you not think?”
Caroline pondered her mother’s words as she stood to check the fall of her gown in the mirror. “Indeed, now that you mention it,” she said, feigning indifference, “there have been some odd occurrences.”
In truth, Caroline had not stopped wondering about the mystery surrounding Rosemary’s exit from London.
Mrs. Newton patted Caroline’s hand. “I do hope you will watch over our Mrs. Pickersgill and protect her, for she has been such a good friend.”
Caroline wanted to protest the appellation of “friend,” but she did not. She thought back to their encounter with Lady Middlebury at Berkeley Square. She had already defended Rosemary as only the most devoted friend might.
Beyond what most friends might do, in fact, but she would not tell her mother of her actions. It was all too embarrassing.
However, Caroline may as well admit to herself that she had developed a tenderness for the woman. She replied, “I will not allow any harm to befall her.”
In actuality, Caroline feared that Rosemary might harm her when she discovered their destination for the evening, but her companion would relent and accompany her. She had no choice.
And that is precisely what happened.
As evening fell, Caroline ordered a servant to hire a hackney carriage to transport them from Grosvenor Street to Vauxhall.
“I do not like this,” Rosemary said as the hackney whisked them southeast toward the Thames through the lingering evening heat.
Indeed, Caroline did not much approve of their destination either, but she would not fall prey to her country upbringing by agreeing. Instead, she said, “Oh, do not be so difficult, Mrs. Pickersgill. Vauxhall is a fashionable place. Why, the prince regent himself can often be found there.”
Rosemary cut her eyes to Caroline. “That does not provide encouragement, Miss Bingley.”
“Well, I do not care whether or not you are encouraged, for we are dining with Mrs. Winton and Mr. Charlton, and that is all there is to it.”
Caroline’s words were meant to reassure herself as well as Rosemary, and she could think of nothing more to say and only sat quietly as the hackney traversed the streets of London and then rumbled across the Vauxhall Bridge. As the wheels struck the stone, Mr. Rushton’s face entered Caroline’s mind, but she shoved the image of him aside. She must concentrate on her object: Mr. Charlton.
The hackney deposited its occupants at the entrance to the gardens, and the view within its walls quite took away Caroline’s breath.
“It is lovely,” she said as she peeked through the entrance. She had not expected it to appear so enchanting. Trees lined a long walkway, and lanterns dangled from their branches. Their light swayed with the breeze and cast a romantic, ever-moving glow across the walkers below.
“And crowded,” Rosemary added.
Indeed, the garden teemed with people. The line to enter the garden was quite long and would take many minutes to navigate.
As they waited among the
other would-be revelers, Rosemary stood with her head bent, again looking as though she thought the ground might suddenly shift beneath her feet. At length, they reached the front of the line, and Caroline paid the entry fee before proceeding along the tree-lined trail toward the Grove, which was located at the intersection of the four principal gravel pathways at Vauxhall. The garden was a blur of motion, glittering gowns, and dark gentlemen’s attire. Around her, Caroline heard snippets of conversation and laughter, and she detected an orchestra tuning in the distance.
As Caroline navigated the path, she wondered at the multitude of people from all social classes mingling together and found herself quite certain she should never locate Mr. Charlton amongst them all, but she need not have worried, for Mr. Charlton found her.
“Miss Bingley,” he cried from the path behind them. The ladies turned to see him already bowing low. “You have arrived at last. Come, Lavinia will be so pleased to see you.”
He offered Caroline his arm, which she accepted, and the three of them walked toward the Grove, where the random sounds of the instruments became louder.
Mr. Charlton led them through the colonnade, where a hundred supper boxes had been arranged, and they followed as he wound deftly to the one they would fill that evening.
Lavinia noticed their approach, and a look of horror spread across her fine features, but it disappeared quickly, leaving Caroline confident that she had misinterpreted it. Her friend’s face must have registered surprise only.
Lavinia swept forward to welcome them, but Caroline met her halfway and spoke first, as if she were the hostess of the event and not her friend.
“Ah, Lavinia,” she said with a regal curtsey. “You may be certain of our pleasure at your invitation to join you for dinner here.”
Lavinia curtseyed too, but she seemed a bit taken aback at Caroline’s choice of greeting. When she spoke, however, her voice hinted at no discomfort or confusion. Her tone was regal as it ever was when she said, “Though I am quite shocked to find you in London, you are most welcome to dine here.”
The party seated themselves around the table, and conversation flowed, albeit not freely, and Caroline could not tell whether the strain was due to Lavinia’s distant behavior or to the fact that the orchestra had begun to play, rendering hearing difficult.
Around dusk, a strangely minimal tray of victuals had been brought to the table. The cold ham, which was supposedly intended to feed four, would barely cover a piece of bread, and the chickens were the size of underfed pigeons. But Caroline could not be disappointed because she had become entranced by the orchestra.
The notes of George Frideric Handel danced around her, and Caroline had the greatest urge to put both elbows on the table, rest her chin in her hands, and listen the whole night through. But she sat bolt upright, allowing her pleasure to show only as she tapped her toes beneath the table linens.
Her enchantment endured until she chanced to see Lady Middlebury in a nearby box.
She leaned toward Rosemary. “Is not that the lady with whom you spoke at Berkeley Square yesterday?”
Rosemary looked and then winced. “It is.”
“Oh dear,” Caroline whispered, “I hope she does not spot us. After I behaved so rudely, she cannot help our situation.”
“What are you speaking of?” demanded Lavinia. “I must know.”
“Oh,” Caroline hesitated and then chose to reveal the truth. Perhaps hinting at an association with a viscountess might spur Lavinia into more jovial conversation. “I was just pointing out to Mrs. Pickersgill a mutual acquaintance.”
Lavinia looked around pointedly. “Who?”
“Lady Middlebury,” Caroline responded.
“Well, how exceedingly interesting,” Lavinia said as her eyes alighted on the woman herself.
Caroline could hardly guess why and was about to ask when Mr. Charlton stood. “Will you walk about with me, Miss Bingley?”
Taken slightly aback by the suddenness of his invitation, Caroline managed to smile and nod, but Lavinia said, “I do not think it wise, William.”
“Oh come, sister, we shall keep to the lighted pathways. Rest here and our Mrs. Pickersgill will divert you.”
And with that, Caroline found herself, quite without her companion, being escorted down the main path deeper into the garden and leaving a sputtering Lavinia behind.
Though she ought to be experiencing jubilation and triumph at this precise moment, Caroline felt only confusion.
This was the moment for which she had been waiting! She was on the arm of a soon-to-be titled, wealthy gentleman, and she was perched on the cusp of rising to the status of baroness, forever removing herself from the pall of her family history and never again being forced to depend on anyone else—not her brother, Mr. Darcy, Miss Elizabeth Bennet—to secure her place among the best society.
Yes, she must focus on that and not on the feeling of unease within her.
She forced herself to smile at Mr. Charlton.
“Vauxhall is lovely, is it not?” he asked.
She looked about her, noticing again how the lighted lanterns swayed among the tree branches, bathing the pathway in semi-light and moveable shadow.
“It is rather lovely,” she agreed. The giggling walking parties and love-struck couples they passed along the path reminded her all too forcefully of its reputation.
Still, she allowed Mr. Charlton to lead her further into the garden, and as the sounds of Handel faded into the background, they met fewer groups of walkers. Soon, they encountered only couples, hanging upon each other in a manner that would be inappropriate in polite society.
Despite the idealistic setting, Caroline did not feel the thrill of her closeness to Mr. Charlton. Her hand rested along his forearm, but she felt only her glove beneath her fingertips. He elicited no response from her at all. She thought briefly of Mr. Rushton and of her reaction to him in the carriage, but she quickly removed him from her mind.
She ought to feel the same thing for Mr. Charlton, should she not?
Some sort of twinge in her heart? She had heard such sentiments described at boarding school, this feeling she should experience. It had always sounded a bit like indigestion, and that did not seem pleasing. But after her experience with Mr. Rushton, she had been forced to reconsider. This strange indigestion was rather pleasing. Still, she felt nothing in the vicinity of her heart when she looked to Mr. Charlton.
Caroline continued to examine her emotions as she looked up at him. He did not return her gaze, but only looked forward as he led her deeper into the shady hollow, and she studied him with immunity.
What was the matter with her?
He was handsome, well dressed, and rich. He had ancestors of note. He would be a baron.
Despite all these inducements, her heart was obstinately uninvolved.
Her mind, however, rejoiced over her position on the arm of the future baron. Yes, her plan was working itself out shockingly well, even if her heart seemed to be attempting a coup.
When Mr. Charlton stopped, they were standing alone at the edge of an even darker, more intimate section of garden.
“I confess,” said Mr. Charlton, “that I could not listen to another note of that orchestra. Could you?”
“No indeed,” Caroline lied.
“And I do have the greatest desire to speak privately with you, but I dare not drag you any farther into the dark. I do not want to ruin your reputation, Miss Bingley. Perhaps,” he lowered his voice, “you could meet me at the ruins.” He pointed down the dim pathway. “Just follow that corridor in a quarter hour or so and you shall find me.”
With that, he dashed off, leaving Caroline quite alone among the trickle of visitors along the path.
Caroline looked around and then took a deep breath.
What could she be thinking?
Here she was in Vauxhall, preparing for her first assignation.
Well, not really her first assignation. She had allowed Mr. Rushton to touch her intimate
ly in the carriage after all.
But this was her first moonlight assignation.
And it was with a future baron, not a tradesman.
It would mean the end to all her worries. She would never again fear that her past might be discovered, and she would no longer be required to apologize to Miss Elizabeth Bennet in order to return to the best society. Finally, she would be completely free of it all.
So Caroline waited fifteen minutes and then marched down the dark path to meet her future.
~**~
The classical temple was composed of columns that supported a domed stone roof. Long drapes of a filmy material hung in the spaces between the columns and blew gently in the breeze. To the side of the temple stood a small flower garden, which was surrounded by a trellis of clinging vines that quite obscured the view within.
Caroline approached the structure but did not enter. Her determination had waned as she marched, then walked, and finally dawdled along the path toward the rendezvous point. Now, she found that she could only manage to look at the temple, and as her eyes adjusted to the muted light, she detected Mr. Charlton’s figure behind the sheer fabric. He seemed to be speaking with someone.
Confused and thinking perhaps she had come upon the wrong ruins, Caroline edged closer, but by the time she drew near enough to hear the conversation, the pair had disappeared. And so she followed, quietly stepping into the temple.
She looked around the columned room and discovered that the attached trellis actually formed a sort of walled walkway, and she followed it, passing under the flowered vines that hung above her head. She was just about to round the corner to the entrance to a small interior garden when she heard a giggle.
A girlish giggle.
That was odd.
Then, even odder, she heard Mr. Charlton’s voice. She could not decipher the words, but then there was another snigger.
Abruptly, Caroline realized what sort of scene she had come upon, and though she had no wish to see the particulars, she peeked around the corner. She could see nothing of the woman, however, without revealing her position in the garden.
Caroline Bingley: A Continuation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 18