‘I could not,’ said the squire. ‘Oh, if that is the case, I must apologize to her directly.’
‘No, you must not,’ said Delilah. ‘That would be even more humiliating. Did you not think she had feelings?’
‘I thought of her as a good friend,’ said the squire mournfully.
‘I will try to comfort her as best I can,’ said Delilah. ‘Now to talk of your marriage . . .’
The squire was only too eager to forget about Amy and talk about Mrs Cavendish. Before he left, he said he would stay the night at Limmer’s Hotel and return to the country in the morning.
After he had gone, Delilah sat deep in thought. She was very fond of Mrs Cavendish and thought the marriage very suitable. On the other hand, Mrs Cavendish was an excellent housekeeper. Delilah would be left idle. All her tasks – tending the vegetable garden, making jams and pickles and cordials, visiting the poor and sick – would all be taken over by Mrs Cavendish. For the first time in her life, Delilah began to find the idea of an establishment of her own attractive.
She went upstairs to look for Amy and met Effy on the landing. ‘Silly woman,’ said Effy, meaning Amy. ‘She will not let me comfort her but sits there, drinking brandy, and saying she knew all along about this Mrs Cavendish and had only said the squire was going to marry her to tease me.’
Effy went on downstairs and Delilah ran up to Amy’s room and went inside.
‘Hey, ho!’ said Amy, her eyes bright and feverish. ‘Have some brandy.’
‘Thank you,’ said Delilah. Amy handed her a glass. ‘To the happy pair,’ she said. Delilah drank the toast and then refilled her glass and raised it. She looked at Amy. ‘To me and you, Miss Amy,’ she said, ‘and all poor, broken-hearted rejected women everywhere.’
Delilah suddenly put down her glass and her eyes filled with tears. It came back to her in a rush, all the feelings of humiliation and sadness that Sir Charles’s rejection of her had caused. She had never cried over it, but now she did and felt she could not stop. Tears began to pour down Amy’s leathery cheeks as well, and both women cried unchecked for a long time.
‘That’s better,’ said Amy at last. ‘Much better. Thank you for making me cry, Delilah.’
‘And thank you, too, Amy,’ said Delilah, dropping the title of ‘Miss,’ for she felt she and Amy were sisters in affliction.
Amy refilled the glasses. ‘A pox on all men,’ she said.
‘Confusion to ’em,’ said Delilah, knocking back her drink in one gulp.
When Effy entered sometime later, it was to find both of them fast asleep in their chairs, with the empty brandy decanter between them. Clucking with dismay, Effy summoned the servants to help her get both somnolent drunks to bed.
Monsieur Duclos wondered whether to inform Miss Effy Tribble that she would never master his language. Effy had not been taught French in her youth, and it looked as if she would never be taught now. But most of the ladies he instructed murdered his language. All they really wanted were a few phrases with which to lard their conversation, as was the fashion. He liked the Tribbles and did not want to cheat them in any way, but they paid well and he needed the money. Also, there was one of his countrywomen in the house, Yvette, the dressmaker. She had entered the room once when Effy was having her lesson, carrying a roll of silk to ask Effy’s opinion on the colour. Monsieur Duclos had addressed her in French, starting to ask her questions, but before she could reply, Effy had dismissed her with a wave of her hand.
The French teacher now often wondered where the seamstress had her room and whether she was ever allowed any time off. He took to haunting Holles Street in his free time, but never once did he see Yvette leave the house. He tried to befriend the servants in the hope of finding one willing to carry a message, but the servants distrusted him because he was French and shied away from him.
If he had been teaching Amy, Monsieur Duclos might have felt bold enough to broach the subject of Yvette. But it was Effy who was his pupil. Effy flirted with him, and Monsieur Duclos knew the value of keeping his middle-aged pupils happy. At least Effy was pretty and dainty and not like Mrs Cullen, the wife of a colonel, also one of his pupils, who was fat and gross and breathed heavily and found every excuse she could to lean against him while pretending to study her books.
He was just leaving the drawing room a week after the disastrous news of the squire’s forthcoming marriage when he felt he was being watched and glanced up the stairs. There, at the turn of the stair, stood Yvette, looking down on him.
He glanced quickly about and then bounded up the stairs to Yvette. ‘Where can we talk?’ he asked. ‘Follow me,’ she said softly, and led the way to her room.
Mr Haddon returned to Holles Street and to a great welcome from Amy and Effy. He gratefully sank back into the comfort of all the old flattery and attention and then asked how Miss Wraxall was getting along.
‘She is behaving very prettily,’ said Amy. ‘We have nothing to complain of. Quite a reformed character. We have, in fact, become very close friends.’
But Delilah had a plot, a plot she had no intention of telling Amy about. She remembered her father’s words, that Sir Charles, like himself, would be anxious if anyone from their village showed signs of being about to make a bad match. To that end, she had been talking at balls and parties to other débutantes, finding out, not who was suitable, but who was entirely unsuitable. At certain of these functions, she saw Sir Charles, but he did not come near her and that spurred Delilah on to action.
Delilah could have gained the information she needed much more quickly had she been a wallflower and had spent more time with the other débutantes. As it was, it took her a whole month to learn that the most dangerous man on the London scene was Mr Guy Berkeley. On the face of it, Mr Berkeley was a catch. He did not look at all sinister. He was in his late twenties, rich, handsome, and had an open and engaging manner. He was tall, with hair as black as Delilah’s own; he had deep-blue eyes and a good figure and a square face and strong chin. His nose bordered on the snub, a small defect in an otherwise perfect appearance. He was a heart-breaker. He was a philanderer. Worse, he did not just flirt, he seduced. His charm lay in the fact that for a brief spell he genuinely fell in love with his victims. He had enough money for parents to persuade themselves that the rumours about him were untrue, and enough looks and charm for their daughters to wish to be just as blind. He was a close friend of the Prince Regent, which was the reason he had been forgiven all.
Sir Charles was not present at the ball where Delilah first met Mr Berkeley, but Lord Andrew was. He had ruefully accepted that he had no hope with Delilah, but he was startled to notice that Delilah, who had appeared to have given up flirting, was behaving quite disgracefully with Mr Berkeley. Amy did not see it. Effy had the headache and had stayed at home, and Mr Haddon, who had been invited, had escorted Amy. They talked and talked like the old friends they were and forgot about Delilah. Amy was now so used to Delilah behaving herself that she had ceased to watch her every move.
Lord Andrew broached the subject of Delilah with Sir Charles the next day. ‘Miss Wraxall was flirting quite shamelessly at the ball last night,’ he said crossly.
Sir Charles looked amused. ‘Miss Wraxall usually flirts shamelessly,’ he said. ‘Who was her victim?’
‘I think, in this case, she is the victim but does not know it. Mr Guy Berkeley.’
‘Who is he? Oh, I remember. One of Prinny’s cronies.’
‘And that friendship is why he is still in this country instead of hiding away on the Continent from irate parents. He is a womanizer. His last victim was little Miss Pettifor. She tried to kill herself, but her parents stepped in, and gossip has it that Prinny stepped in, too, and a marriage with Lord Carey – you know him, always in need of money – was arranged. Miss Pettifor went to the altar heavily pregnant, and it is highly doubtful that the child was his, for he had not set eyes on the girl until a fortnight before the wedding, or so it was believed. Special licence. Rushed job
of work.’
‘I have no doubt someone will soon put Miss Wraxall wise,’ said Sir Charles. ‘I cannot imagine those two dragons she lives with allowing her to make a cake of herself.’
‘Guy Berkeley is rich and good ton,’ said Lord Andrew. ‘You would be amazed how many people are prepared to believe only the best of him. The Town is thin of eligibles at the moment.’
‘I am persuaded that Miss Wraxall has a good amount of common sense,’ said Sir Charles.
‘I overheard Berkeley offering to take her driving today,’ said Lord Andrew. ‘Why don’t you go along to the Park this afternoon and have a look at ’em?’
‘I think it’s a case of if you can’t have her, then you’re not going to allow anyone else a chance,’ said Sir Charles.
‘And I could have had her, my friend, had you not introduced me to a dice game.’
‘Come, now, confess your only interest in her was her money.’
‘No, I cannot confess that. You seem blissfully unaware that your village maiden has taken the Town by storm. She is the most beautiful creature anyone has seen this age.’
Sir Charles felt annoyed. When he was not with Delilah, he remembered her only as the rather plump and endearing seventeen-year-old of so long ago. He had, he admitted, kept out of her road, but it had piqued him that she did not appear to have noticed that fact, or even to have been aware that he was in the room.
‘I suppose,’ he said slowly, ‘it is my duty to make sure she does not make a fool of herself. Perhaps I shall go to the Park, although I doubt if I shall be able to find her in all the press.’
But he had no difficulty at all in finding Delilah. Mr Guy Berkeley was driving a showy swan-necked phaeton as high as the first storey of a house. Beside him sat Delilah, so entranced with Mr Berkeley’s company that she seemed unaware of the sensation she was causing or that several gentlemen were standing on their chairs to get a better look at her.
Sir Charles felt himself becoming furious. Delilah was behaving like a demi-rep. As a friend of her father’s, the least he could do would be to call at Holles Street and read her a lecture.
Before he reached there, Amy and Effy were already discussing Mr Berkeley. ‘I do not know what Delilah is doing encouraging that young man,’ said Effy. ‘I find he has a bad reputation. How could you bring yourself to give him permission to take Delilah driving?’
‘I trust Delilah,’ said Amy. ‘She is merely enjoying herself. She has not taken a serious liking to any gentleman so far.’
‘But our job is to see that she does,’ said Effy crossly. ‘I should have gone to that ball, but my headache was quite terrible. Poor Mr Haddon! How he must have missed me.’
‘I don’t think he even noticed you weren’t there,’ said Amy. ‘We had so much to talk about.’
‘He must have noticed and asked the reason for my absence,’ said Effy, ‘for I received such a pretty bouquet of flowers from him this morning.’
Amy felt as if she had been plunged into cold water. Mr Haddon had never sent her flowers.
‘You must stop this ridiculous business of fancying men to be in love with you,’ said Amy. ‘Only look at the way you flirt with that French tutor. How can you expect Delilah to behave when you set such a bad example?’
‘I do not flirt with Monsoor Duclos,’ said Effy. ‘He admires my mind.’
‘It is part of his business to flatter his silly clients,’ said Amy. ‘I don’t know what you want to speak French for anyway.’
‘C’est toot la maud,’ said Effy crossly.
‘Whatever that means,’ said Amy. ‘I hear Delilah now.’
Delilah came in. She was about to ask the sisters what Monsieur Duclos was doing descending from the upper regions at this time of day, but Amy made her forget the Frenchman.
‘I have to tell you,’ said Amy roundly, ‘that Berkeley ain’t suitable.’
‘Why?’ asked Delilah, unpinning her bonnet. ‘He seduces gels, he don’t marry ’em.’
‘Perhaps he has never been in love,’ said Delilah.
‘I suppose that’s what he told you,’ said Amy cynically. ‘Be warned, Delilah. One minute he’ll be paying you pretty compliments, and the next, he’ll have his leg over you.’
‘Amy!’ screamed Effy, fanning herself vigorously.
‘Odd’s cock-fools! I speak the truth,’ said Amy, losing her temper, not really over Delilah and Mr Berkeley but because of those flowers Mr Haddon had sent Effy.
‘Sir Charles Digby,’ announced Harris.
Amy noticed the sudden look of satisfaction on Delilah’s face.
Sir Charles came in, made his bow to the ladies, and then said, ‘I would like a few words in private with Miss Wraxall.’
The sisters hesitated. ‘I am an old friend of the family,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Pray allow me only a little time.’
The sisters exchanged glances and then Amy said, ‘Well, only a few minutes, mind. And leave the door open.’
‘What is it you wish to speak to me about?’ asked Delilah as soon as they were alone.
‘I am come to warn you about Mr Berkeley,’ said Sir Charles.
‘Pooh!’ said Delilah. ‘You are come too late. I have just been warned.’
Sir Charles’s face cleared. ‘Of course I might have known I could rely on the Misses Tribble.’
‘I find Mr Berkeley very engaging company,’ said Delilah airily, ‘and I never listen to rumour.’
‘Now, don’t be silly . . .’
‘How dare you address me in such a tone, sir! I am not a schoolgirl. Nay! Neither am I an innocent seventeen-year-old, prepared to listen any more to your long and boring monologues. So tiresome in the country, is it not? One has so little choice of gentlemen that one finds oneself putting up with the most awful bores.’
‘For the friendship and affection I have for your father, Miss Wraxall, I will not stand by and see you make a fool of yourself. I put it to you plain. Mr Berkeley means to take your virginity, not your hand in marriage.’
‘Perhaps he cannot take what has already been lost,’ said Delilah lightly.
Sir Charles’s face flamed and he seized her by the arms and glared down into her eyes. ‘Are you trying to tell me that . . . ?’ he began threateningly.
Delilah laughed. ‘I am not trying to tell you anything, sir. I am simply trying to shock you into taking your boring and interfering presence elsewhere.’
He looked down at her laughing, mocking eyes. He muttered something and crushed her in his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth, a punishing kiss that ended up punishing the punisher as Delilah’s lips melted and burned against his own and her body became soft and pliant in his. He could have gone on kissing her until the end of time, but a screech of ‘Sir Charles!’ from two outraged voices made him release her quickly and step back.
Amy and Effy stood at the entrance to the drawing room, looking as if they could not believe their eyes.
‘Is there not something you have failed to ask us, Sir Charles?’ demanded Amy sternly.
Delilah had turned away and walked to the window. Sir Charles looked at her in a bemused way and then looked back to the sisters. His own voice seemed in his ears to be coming from very far away.
‘I beg your pardon, ladies,’ he said. ‘Pray give me leave to pay my addresses to Miss Wraxall.’
Amy and Effy beamed with pleasure. Delilah slowly turned around.
‘No, Sir Charles,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you.’
Sir Charles made a stiff jerky bow and walked from the room.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Amy weakly. ‘Let me sit down.’
‘Will you never stop flirting?’ raged Effy. ‘You had no right to let that poor man kiss you and then turn you down flat.’
‘He kissed me,’ said Delilah. ‘I didn’t kiss him.’
‘Well, now you’ve got your revenge,’ said Amy, ‘we can all be happy.’
Delilah burst into tears and ran from the room.
‘Some folks
never really know what they want or who they want,’ muttered Amy, and went after Delilah to see what on earth was the matter with her.
6
. . . there is nothing better than skating. I should be very glad to cut eights and nines with his lordship, but the only figure I should cut would be that of as many feet as would measure my own length on the ice.
Thomas Love Peacock
As if to compensate for a lazy, sunny autumn, grim, freezing winter descended on London, bringing with it choking seas of fog or hard white frosts that turned the buildings into black-and-white etchings. The skeletal trees in the parks looked so stiff and frozen, you would think a puff of wind would make them shiver into so many brittle pieces of kindling. Smoke belched up from thousands of chimneys, which caused a gentle rain of soot to fall on nobleman and pauper alike.
Conversation during calls was usually about the best way to clean clothes. Sometimes the fog was so thick, it crept into the houses and lay in smoky layers on the chilly air. Winter brought back the great fear of consumption as tubercular coughs racked the city.
And yet, to Delilah, who felt she had become truly Londonized, there was something exciting about the fog, about venturing out at night into that great floating grey sea to end up in some glittering ballroom or salon where the rich had tried to recreate summer with great roaring fires and banks of hothouse flowers.
She kept Mr Guy Berkeley dancing attendance on her. Amy and Effy did not put a brake on Delilah’s goings-on, as they quickly discovered that, when Delilah was at her most flirtatious with Mr Berkeley, Sir Charles Digby forgot to dance with anyone, but stood in some ballroom, staring at Delilah.
Amy had decided that Delilah was in love with Sir Charles. To her way of thinking, it was a perfectly sensible marriage prospect. Underneath it all, she still felt bruised by the squire’s engagement to that Mrs Cavendish. Sometimes Amy dreamt that the squire would be so pleased with her if she were to be instrumental in bringing Sir Charles and Delilah together that he would forget about the Widow Cavendish and realize it was she, Amy, he had wanted all along. Her hurt and her dreams stopped her from competing with Effy for Mr Haddon’s favour, although she enjoyed that gentleman’s company as much as ever. Mr Haddon sensed this certain withdrawal of interest and did not like it. He was aware of things he would not have noticed before, things like a certain anger in Amy because he had sent Effy flowers. He had tried to compensate by sending Amy a gift of a new book, just out, on the habits and customs of the American Indian. He had been there when Amy had unwrapped her present. He was sure she was disappointed. It was a fine book. What had she expected?
Enlightening Delilah Page 9