by Joan Smith
I also had the task of being entertained by a bad-tempered Lord Stornaway, who came and sat at my side to complain about the outing. "I never could understand the lure of picnics,” he began, with a bored look about at the group. Some of the youngsters were throwing a ball back and forth, while the more sedate women were already beginning to lay covers and prepare the food.
“Why did you come, then?” I asked, my temper no better than his own.
“Because I am a fool. Food is packed up and carried in baskets out of a civilized house, with chairs and tables and walls, to be served off the ground, while ants and bugs walk all over it. There will be gritty sand in the chicken, the greens will be wilted from the air, the fruit bruised beyond recognition, and if the hostess has any pretension to fashion, there will be melting ices to top it all off. Add the unpleasant and overpowering stench of dead fish and decaying seaweed, and you have a meal to satisfy the greatest gourmet. For that, people leave their homes and drive out to sit in the cold wind.”
“With a thoroughly unamusing companion for a savory,” I added, pulling a long face, to show my commiseration.
“Just so. Do you refer to the kitten or myself? I see she has stuck you with it.”
“I am not so uncivil. I meant me. The litany of evils was your own. I enjoy a picnic."
“You are easily amused. I wonder if they have opened any wine yet. Another charming feature of picnics. One is expected to cavort in the wet sand to earn a glass of inferior wine. Folks always bring out their worst wine for a picnic, counting on the atmosphere to conceal its bitterness. I personally take my best champagne, to reward any comers.”
“You inflict this form of torture on your own guests as well, do you?”
“Not through choice. Stornaway happens to be within commuting distance of Stonehenge. Folks visiting us from any distance always hint at their eagerness to see a bunch of rocks standing in the middle of a desolate plain. I have been to view Stonehenge nineteen times in the past twelve months.”
"What is it like? I have never seen it.”
“Dull. Very dull, to see. To visit it with antiquarians is another matter, to actually explore it, and try to uncover its secret. I am going to bribe some wine from the servants. Stay here. I shall be right back.”
When he returned, he carried a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “I hope you are ashamed of yourself. Champagne, and here you have been forecasting the dregs of the cellar,” I chided him.
“It will be very bad champagne," he promised.
"I think it’s lovely,” I said, after tasting it. “Like drinking stars and moonbeams.”
“What a romantical notion. I should have got a saucer, to see if we could not get Lou bosky, to be rid of him? Where are you from, Molly?” he asked, when a few sips of wine had helped stabilize his temper.
“Yorkshire, originally.”
“You have concealed your origins well. They have such a heavy accent; it must have taken some doing.”
“I have traveled about a good deal, but gentlefolks are not so afflicted with the accent as the farmers.”
“Yes, you would have heard decent accents in your mistress’s household.”
“My mother’s household,” I pointed out.
He smiled lazily, but made no reply. “Did you hit the road quite young?”
“Yes, my father was an army man. We were moved about a good deal. My mother and I traveled with him, when she was alive.”
The surprised look on his face told me he expected some other answer. His next offensive question cleared the matter up. “How long since you struck out on your own, I mean?”
“When I left home after my mother’s death, I went directly to my relatives, the Brodies,” I answered, with a haughty stare, refusing to acknowledge his meaning.
“When did you and April join Tuck’s outfit?”
“The evening you assaulted Perdita, backstage at Marlborough.”
“Assaulted her? My memory is rather of you assaulting me, with a very heavy reticule.”
“I am amazed you can remember any of it. You were thoroughly disguised, and I don’t mean just as Mr. Brown, either. Where is your friend, Mr. Stafford?” I asked, to change the subject.
“At his home, in Dorset. He is getting shackled this month.”
“Oh really! Who is the girl?”
“You would not know her, Molly. What are your plans, after you leave here?”
“We hope to stay with a relative in another city.”
“How wonderfully informative! What city?”
“You would not be interested to know.”
“I would not have asked, if I did not want to know. If you have learned anything about me, it must be that I don’t mince my words.”
“I don’t consider that the foremost thing I have learned about you, Lord Stornaway, though I grant it to be true.”
“You are a difficult lady to hold polite conversation with.”
“This is not a polite conversation. It is a combination of insulting questions and an interrogation to try to discover where I mean to take Perdita.”
“You fear the relative in an unspecified city might dislike my presence? A Dutch uncle, I take it?”
“Just call him Hans. The champagne was delicious. I mean to go for a walk now.”
“Lou and I will join you,” he said at once, lifting the kitten from my lap and standing up.
“Don’t feel obliged to put yourself to the exertion, Lord Stornaway. I would prefer to be alone.”
"Just call me Storn. About Hans—is it already arranged?”
"It is not a matter to concern you.”
“But it does, all the same. Is he your patron, or the girl’s?”
“We go to a mutual relative. We are cousins, Perdita and I.”
"This sounds very bad to me.”
“Oh, really! You have an utterly debauched mind. Go away.”
“I am one of nature’s burrs. I shall stick. But what can you expect at a picnic? Let us walk this way,” he suggested, turning in the opposite direction from that taken by the youngsters.
“Perdita went this way,” I pointed out, as my main reason was to follow her. I wished only to keep her in view, not catch her up. He followed at my side.
“There is a reason for my questions, you know,” he said, looking out to sea.
“Yes and I have a fair idea what it is.”
“It is not April.”
“I don’t know what chance you may have of recovering your money, but you waste your time following her. I suggest you return to Mother Gaines and beat the other five hundred out of Daugherty, if you actually gave him the sum mentioned.”
“I don’t lie, Molly.”
“Neither do I,” I was unwise enough to reply. A blighting dark eye was levelled at me. No words were necessary to make his point. I had promulgated such a variety of stories over the past week that I hardly remembered myself what I had told, or to whom. “Usually,” I added, in a justifying way. The blighting eye softened, then soon twinkled into a smile.
“Nobody’s perfect,” he admitted, with great magnanimity.
The shouts ahead of us grew louder, as a large breaking wave washed over some tardy person’s feet. It was inevitable, I suppose, that it should be Perdita who got wet. Part of the group went on, while she ran to a rock to sit down, surrounded by three or four blue-jacketed youths. There was a loud clamor of laughing and teasing, the point of which was that she was about to remove her shoes and stockings, and was ordering her court to turn its collective back to her, to allow her some privacy during the operation. She certainly saw Stornaway and myself approaching, but this did not stop her. She lifted her skirt and began rolling down her stockings. I believe she did it on purpose to regain Stornaway’s attention for while I may not have mentioned it, she had first tried to get him to join her on the romp along the water’s edge. A white foot, ankle, and about half of her lower leg were flaunted, while she pretended to be unaw
are of his keen attention.
"Does it also tie its garter in public?” he asked me, in a tone of disapproval. “Even amongst the muslin company, I have not seen such behavior as this.”
I went forward to wrench her skirts down, using all my control not to box her ears. Her feet were thoroughly soaked. Water was dripping from her shoes and the hem of her skirt was destroyed with water and sand. There was no way she could make a presentable appearance back at the picnic. I suggested to the backs of the gentlemen around her that they proceed with their walk. Stornaway, with a glance that held some sympathy directed at me, went along with them, still carrying the kitten.
I was in a quandary as to what should be done. In the end, we dried off her skirts as best we could, returned to a spot a little removed from the other picnickers, placing her shoes and stockings in the sun to dry. With some discretion, folks might not have noticed she was barefoot, but discretion was not a large part of her makeup. Before long, she had several sympathizers, every one of them male, and several outraged matrons, interested in her condition.
She sat like a queen bee when luncheon was served, ordering her various drones to bring her a wing of turkey, to butter her bread, to select the finest fruits for her. Mr. Leveson was not about to be drawn into such a low circle as hers, of which I made up a part. He went and sat off with a different group.
I have not made much mention of John Alton in all of this, but he was not forgotten by Perdita. On this, her first foray into Society, she must have the attention of every man. He had taken the precaution of seating himself well away from her, with Millicent, but this did not stop her. It only made it worse. She shouted at the top of her lungs to him at frequent intervals, reminding him of various childish exploits I fancy he would rather have forgotten. He glared, grimaced, pretended not to hear her, and finally shouted for her to stop pestering him. He had rather forget he knew her.
She tossed her tousled hair and said to Bob Manners, sitting at her feet like a puppy, “He is jealous of you.”
She fed bits of food to her kitten, then when it had had enough, she pulled its mouth open and tried to force food in. Even the kitten was disgusted with her. It bolted from her arms and ran for cover.
“Get it, Moira! Grab it, before it runs into the sea!” It was actually headed in the opposite direction, scampering up the rocks behind us.
“Get it yourself. She’s not your slave,” Stornaway said sharply. For a fraction of a moment, I was actually in charity with the man, till I realized she meant to do as he suggested, go running and climbing, in her bare feet, before the whole company.
I pushed her down. Lou Manners saved the day by running to retrieve his namesake.
I cannot speak for the others; I was relieved when some dark clouds began gathering, then blowing in towards us as the wind rose. It made an excellent excuse to curtail the picnic. There had been some races planned, which I had no desire to see my charge participate in.
“Let us get out of here before it pours,” Stornaway said, picking up her shoes and stockings, still soaking wet. She extended her hands to him.
“Help me up,” she ordered.
“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” he replied, and turned his back on her to speak to me. “Another delightful feature of picnics that I forgot to mention earlier. Rain. Inevitably rain before the day is out.”
Offended at his rough treatment, Perdita said, “I will not drive in his carriage, Moira. I shall return with Lou and Bob.”
“Good!” Stornaway said, with real relief.
“I cannot let her go alone.”
"Those two strapping fellows can take care of themselves,” was his reply. At the last moment, he shoved the wet footgear into Bob Manners’s hands, while Lou got stuck with the kitten.
I was not sorry to get away from her for a half hour, to let my pounding head settle down. “I cannot think why you refused any offer for that wench,” Stornaway said, as he handed me into his curricle.
“Count your blessings. You see what I saved you from, a fate worse than death.”
“I want you to know how much I appreciate it. Sure you weren’t just saving me for yourself?” he asked with an arch smile.
I was so relieved to see he had taken her in dislike that I did not give him the setdown he deserved. Neither did I give him one jot of encouragement. “No arguments, Stornaway. My head is thumping.”
“If you have anything less than a full-blown migraine, it is a miracle. Poor Molly,” he said, patting my hand, and showing me a very pretty smile. “I am going to be an exemplary companion all the way back to Bromley Hall. I shan’t turn reprehensible again till your headache is gone. Promise.” Good to his word, he conversed in a fairly rational manner till we were back at Grifford’s.
* * *
Chapter 13
The time before dinner was occupied with the nearly impossible task of getting the tangles and residue of salt out of Perdita’s hair, and making her appear less than a hoyden for the evening’s entertainment. I also wished to borrow evening slippers for her, and with this end in view, sought out John, hoping he might prevail upon Millicent’s patience in the matter. It did not occur to me there might be any irregularity in entering his room. I found him in the sitting room attached, just sitting alone, with a pensive look on his face.
“I did it,” he said, in fatal accents.
"Did what?” I asked, thinking he referred in some oblique way to Stornaway, and our predicament.
"Proposed. I am an engaged man, Moira. She said yes."
"Oh! Congratulations, John. She is very nice. You will be happy.”
“I suppose you are wondering what I see in her?” he asked, on the defensive.
“Certainly not. You already told me she is very eligible.”
“It wasn’t the money. Perdie’s richer, and I would not take her for all the fish in the sea. Millie is not very pretty, and she’s not clever or anything like that. It is just that, somehow, she is comfortable. I feel right when I am with her. Smarter, braver, better."
“She brings out the best in you.”
"That's it. And I like her. She wasn’t even mad about Perdie acting the hurly-burly girl at the picnic. I mean to get that chit out of here as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning. I’ll drive the two of you back to Mama, and then come back here.”
“That’s good, excellent. Has Stornaway said anything to you?”
“No, how should he? He never climbs out of your pocket long enough to speak to anyone. He was to meet me in the saloon before lunch, but didn’t show up, and I was not so eager to see him that I sent looking for him. It begins to look as though it was you he was after all the while, not Perdie. He’s disgusted with the brat, like everyone else. You’ll talk him around. You might mention the FHC. . ."
“You overestimate my influence with him. He won’t leave without his five hundred pounds, but that is not why I am come.”
He agreed to approach Millie about the loan of slippers. When I came out of his room a little later, Stornaway was coming down the hall. He looked at me—such a look! “In broad daylight, too!” he said, shaking his head.
“Do you ever get your mind out of the gutter! I only went to borrow some shoes.”
“Went to the wrong place. His would be too big,” he said, laughing as he went along to the staircase. The wretch thought I had come from an amorous assignation with John Alton!
Perdita expressed the keenest disinterest in the match John had just made. The names of Bob and Lou were often heard as she primped and preened before the mirror. While she was occupied with making faces at herself, I took up my scissors and trimmed three-quarters of the bows from her gown. The evening was not a total success, but it was not quite a disaster. The engagement was the main point of interest. It was announced after dinner, and again after the guests had assembled for dancing, to inform the newcomers of the event. No mention was made of its also being Millicent’s birthday, though she did receive some gift
s. Perdita’s pretty nose was out of joint to have the interest diverted from herself, till she hit on the role of jilted lover. She cast dying glances on John for half an hour or so, speaking of “shattered dreams” and “bleak futures,” but when the fiddle and piano started up, she abandoned this melancholy pose for gayer revels.
I trailed dutifully along to the dancing room to keep an eye on her. Stornaway, behaving with suspicious propriety, appeared at my elbow. "This has taken me quite by surprise,” he said, with a meaningful look.
“I cannot imagine why! You know Perdita loves dancing, and it is my duty to watch her.”
“I refer to Alton’s engagement.”
“It is not a total surprise. He came here to propose to her, I believe.”
“A singularly inappropriate time to have brought a couple of stray women along.”
“Thank you, but we do not consider ourselves as stray women.”
“Not for long, anyway. Alton will be eager to disencumber himself of any side liaisons, now that he is to be a groom.”
“You are familiar with the etiquette in such cases, I imagine. Did your friend Stafford do so?”
“Yes.”
“There you are, then. John will certainly resign from the FHC, before you turf him out. It is his only love other than Millicent.”
“This Dutch uncle you mentioned . . ."
“He is actually a widowed aunt, and I do not mean to give you either her name or location, so pray speak of other things, or leave.”
“Now, now, don’t be rash, Molly. You are still indebted to me, to the tune of five hundred. I don’t forget your obligation so easily. I expect more than a few smiles in return.” There was a pause, during which I stared fixedly at the dancers. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.
“No, but if you are eager to show off your superb mastery of the art, I shall be happy to watch.”
He crossed his arms and drummed his fingers impatiently on either elbow, while he regarded me thoughtfully. I could not venture into any suggestion of his thoughts. He looked pensive. Finally a frown settled between his brows. “Suit yourself,” he said curtly, then walked away. I did not see him again that evening. I believe he went to his room. I was obliged to stick it out to the bitter end, but Perdita’s suitors were attentive to her, so that she behaved only poorly, and not outrageously.