Bath Tangle

by Джорджетт Хейер

  She was not articulate, and found this command hard to obey. Her account of her engagement was neither fluent nor coherent, but by dint of frequently interpolated questions he was able to piece the story together, if not entirely to understand the circumstances which had induced her to enter into an engagement with a man for whom she felt not a scrap of affection. He believed that her mother’s tyranny accounted for all, and failed to perceive that the prospect of becoming a Marchioness had strongly attracted her. Nor had he the smallest suspicion that her sentiments towards himself had undergone a change.

  She had been taken quite by surprise. She had had no notion that Rotherham had a decided preference for her, for although he had been her host at the Rotherham House ball, it had been Mrs Monksleigh whose name had figured on the invitation card, and she had quite thought that he had had nothing to say in the matter.

  “He never troubled himself at all, that you may be sure of!” said Gerard. “I made Mama invite you!”

  “Oh, did you? How very kind that was of you! I never enjoyed anything half as much, did you? It was a magnificent ball! I had no notion how grand Rotherham House is! So many handsome saloons, and hundreds of footmen, and that huge crystal chandelier in the ballroom, sparkling like diamonds, and your Mama standing at the head of the great staircase—”

  “Yes, yes, I know!” Gerard said, a trifle impatiently. “But Rotherham didn’t even solicit you to dance, did he?”

  “Oh, no! He only said how do you do to me, and of course I had no expectation of his asking me to stand up with him, with so many grand people there! In fact, until we—we became engaged, I never did dance with him, except that once, at Quenbury. We were for ever meeting, at parties, you know, and he was always very civil to me, and sometimes he paid me a compliment, only—only—I don’t know how it is, but when he says a thing that sounds pretty, he does so in a way that—well, in a way that makes one feel that he is being satirical!”

  “You need not tell me that!” said Gerard, with a darkling look. “When did he commence making up to you?”

  “Oh, never! In fact, I had no notion he was disposed to like me, for whenever he talked to me it was in a quizzing way, which put me quite out of countenance. So you may imagine my astonishment when Mama told me he had offered for me! Mama says he behaved with the greatest propriety, exactly as he ought.”

  “Behaved with the greatest propriety?” echoed Gerard incredulously. “Cousin Rotherham? Why, he doesn’t give a groat for such stuff! He always does just as he chooses, and doesn’t care for ceremony, or for having distinguished manners, or for showing people proper observance, or anything like that!”

  “Oh, yes, Gerard, he does!” Emily said earnestly, raising her eyes to his face. “He becomes dreadfully vexed if one does not behave just as he says one ought, or—or if one is shy, and does not know how to talk to people! He—says very cutting things, d-doesn’t he? If one angers him!”

  “So he has treated you to his devilish ill-humour already, has he?” demanded Gerard, his eyes kindling. “Pretty conduct towards his betrothed, upon my word! It is just as I thought! He does not love you! I believe he wishes to marry you only to spite me!”

  She shook her head, turning away her face. “No, no! He does love me, only—Oh, I don’t want to be married to him!”

  “Good God, you shall not be!” he said vehemently, seizing her hand, and kissing it. “I cannot think how you could have consented! That he should have behaved to you in such a way—!”

  “Oh, no! Not then!” she explained, “How could I say I would not, when Mama had arranged it, and was so pleased with me? It is very wrong not to obey one’s parents, and even Papa was pleased, too, for he said that after all I was not such a complete zero as he had thought. And Mama said I should learn to love Lord Rotherham, and he would give me everything I could possibly desire, besides making me a great lady, with all those houses, and my own carriage, and a Marchioness’s robes, if there should happen to be a Coronation; which, of course, there must be, mustn’t there? Because the poor King—”

  “But, Emily, all that is nothing!” protested Gerard. “You would not sell yourself for a Marchioness’s coronet!”

  “No,” agreed Emily, rather doubtfully. “I did think at first that perhaps—But that was when Lord Rotherham was behaving with propriety.”

  Aghast, and quite thunderstruck, Gerard demanded: “Do you mean to tell me that Rotherham—that Rotherham used you improperly? It is worse even than I guessed! Good God, I would never have believed—”

  “No, no!” stammered Emily, blushing fierily, and hanging down her head. “It was only that he is a man of strong passions! Mama explained it to me, and she said I must be flattered by—by the violence of his feelings. But—I don’t like to be k-kissed so roughly, and that m-makes him angry, and—Oh, Gerard, I am afraid of him!”

  “He is the greatest beast in nature!” Gerard said, his voice shaking with indignation. “You must tell him at once that you cannot marry him!”

  Her eyes widened in startled dismay. “C-cry off? I can’t! M-mama would not allow me to!”

  “Emily, dearest Emily, she cannot compel you to marry anyone against your will! You have only to be firm!”

  Anything less firm than the appearance Emily presented as she listened to these brave words would have been hard to find. Her face was as pale as it had a moment earlier been red, her eyes charged with apprehension, and her whole frame trembling. Nothing that he could urge seemed to convince her that it would be possible to withstand the combined assault of her mother and Lord Rotherham. The very thought of being forced to confront two such formidable persons made her feel faint and sick. Moreover, the alternative to marriage, little though Gerard might think it, was almost worse, since it would carry with it no such alleviations as coronets and consequence. Mama had said that ladies who cried off from engagements were left to wear the willow all their days, and she was quite right, for only think of Lady Serena, so beautiful and clever, and still single! She would have to live at home, with Miss Prawle and the children, and be in disgrace, and see her sisters all married, and going to parties, and—oh no, impossible! Gerard did not understand!

  But Gerard assured her that none of these ills would come to pass—or, at any rate, only for a short time. For Gerard had evolved a cunning scheme, and he rather fancied that when he had explained it to her his adored Emily would perceive that nothing could better have served their ends than her engagement to Rotherham and its rupture. “For if you had not become engaged, dear love, your Mama would continue scheming to marry you to some man of rank and fortune, and I daresay she could never have been brought to listen to my suit. But when you have declared off with Rotherham, she will think it useless to persist, and she will very likely bring out Anne next season, and leave you in Gloucestershire.”

  “Anne?” exclaimed Anne’s elder sister indignantly. “She will only be sixteen, and I could not endure it!”

  “Yes, yes, only listen!” begged Gerard, alight with eagerness. “I come of age in November of 1817—very little more than a year from now! Then Rotherham will be obliged to put me in possession of my fortune—well, it is not precisely a fortune, but it brings me close on three hundred pounds a year, which is an independence, at least. I am not perfectly sure whether Rotherham would be obliged to pay it to me now, if I left Cambridge, because my father left it to me—well, to Cousin Rotherham in trust for me, until I am twenty-one—so that it should provide for my schooling and maintenance. Only Rotherham gives it to me for my allowance, and chose to pay for my education himself. I did not ask him to, and, in fact, I would liefer he did not, because to be under an obligation to him is of all things what I most dislike! I daresay he sent me to Eton just to get me into his power! However, never mind that! The thing is that I fear he can compel me to finish my time at Cambridge—and, you know, I do think perhaps I should, because I mean to embrace a political career, and to get my degree would be helpful, I expect. One of my particular
friends is related to Lord Liverpool, and has interest with him, and he is very ready to oblige me. So you see that I have excellent prospects besides my poetry! Rotherham may not think that writing poetry is a gainful occupation, but only consider Lord Byron! Why, he must have made a fortune, Emily, and if he could do so, why should not I?”

  Emily, a little dazed by all this eloquence, could think of no reason why he should not, and shook her head wonderingly.

  “No! Well, we shall see!” said Gerard. “I do not count upon it, mind, for public taste is so bad—But we needn’t concern ourselves with that at this present! This is what we must do!—You must cry off from this wicked engagement: that’s certain!I will go up to Cambridge for my Third Year, and the instant I come down, which will be next June, I shall seek an introduction to Liverpool—there will be no difficulty about that!—and establish myself in the way to a successful career. Then, in November, when I come of age, and your Mama has despaired of finding what she thinks an eligible husband for you—only, if you should receive an offer, you must be resolute in declining it, you know!—I shall offer for you again, and she will be only too thankful! What do you think of that, dearest?”

  She did not tell him. She was a very softhearted girl, besides being almost wholly deficient in moral courage, and she shrank from giving him her opinion of a scheme which in no way recommended itself to her. She perceived that he entertained no doubts that her sentiments towards him were the same as they had been in the spring; and to break it to him that although she still liked him very well she had no desire to marry him seemed to her to be an impossible task. She sought refuge in evasions, talked of filial duty, and said that Lady Serena had told her that she was a goose to be afraid of Lord Rotherham.

  “Lady Serena!” he ejaculated. “Pray, why did she jilt him? I should very much like to ask her that home question!”

  “Well, she is residing in Laura Place, with Lady Spenborough,” said Emily doubtfully, “but do you think you ought? She might think it an impertinence. Besides, she told me herself that she cried off because she and Lord Rotherham didn’t suit. They quarrelled so frequently that she became quite exhausted, but I can’t think she was afraid of him! She is afraid of nothing!”

  “Lady Serena in Bath?” said Gerard, in a tone of considerably less elation. “Lord, I wish she were not!”

  “Don’t you like her?” asked Emily, shocked.

  “Oh, yes! Well—yes, I like her well enough! I wish she may not tell Rotherham I am here, though! You know, for all she jilted him they are still wondrous great, and there’s no telling what she might take it into her head to do, for I am sure she is very odd and unaccountable. On no account, Emily, must you divulge to her the attachment between us!”

  “Oh, no!” she said, glad to be able to accede to one at least of his demands.

  “If I should chance to meet her, I shall say that I came to Bath to visit a friend of mine. The only thing is, Cousin Rotherham forbade me to come here, so—”

  “He forbade you?” she cried, cast into renewed dismay. “You have not seen him, surely?”

  “Certainly I have seen him!” he replied, throwing out his chest a little. “When Lady Laleham refused to disclose your whereabouts—”

  She interrupted with a tiny shriek. “You have been to Cherrifield Place? Oh, Gerard, how could you? Whatever shall I do? If Mama knew—”

  “Well, it can’t be helped,” he said, rather sulkily. “How else was I to find you? And if I leave Bath immediately—as soon as we are agreed upon what we should both do, I mean—very likely she won’t think anything of my visit. If she does, I think you should tell her that you would not listen to my suit, and that will make all right.”

  “Does Lord Rotherham know that you are here?” she asked anxiously.

  “Well, I told him that I should come here, but ten to one he didn’t believe I should dare to disobey him. Indeed, I know he did not! He is so set up in conceit of himself—But I fancy I have shown him that he cannot browbeat me! I’m not afraid of him! Though I should wish not to be in Bath, if he should take it into his head to visit you,” said Gerard, with perfect sincerity. “I don’t mean, of course, that I shouldn’t prefer to face him now, man to man, but the thing is that it would very likely ruin all if I did,” he added, lapsing slightly.

  Emily, both hands to her cheeks in a distracted gesture, paid very little heed to this. “Oh, heavens, what shall I do? Oh, how could you, Gerard?”

  “But I have told you what you must do!” he pointed out. “You have only to be resolute in refusing to continue in the engagement, and, although it may be a trifle unpleasant at first, I daresay, there is nothing either your mama or Rotherham can do to compel you to yield, recollect! Of course, it would not do, if you were to disclose that you are betrothed to me. It is the shabbiest thing that I’m not of age! If I were, and Rotherham had no legal power over me, I need not tell you that I should remain at your side, and see to it you were not scolded or bullied! But it is only for a little time, dearest, and then we shall be married!”

  But Emily, deriving no comfort from this prospect, merely begged him to take her back to her grandmother, and declared herself to be incapable of deciding, without reflection, upon any course of action. She was so much agitated that Gerard saw that it would be useless to press her for an immediate promise. He could perceive no flaw in his plan, but he knew that females were easily alarmed by anything unexpected, besides not being possessed of superior intellects capable of grappling in a flash with all the aspects of a problem. So he said soothingly that she must consider all he had said, and tell him the result of her lucubrations on the following day. Where should they meet?

  Emily was at first inclined to think that they ought not to meet at all, but since he persisted in his determination, she said at last: “Oh, dear! I’m sure I shan’t—Oh, I don’t know how it may be contrived, unless Grandmama will let me go to Meyler’s Library, while she is in the Pump Room, which I frequently do, because it adjoins it, you know, and—”

  “But we can’t talk in a crowded library!” objected Gerard. “I’ll tell you what, Emily! You must pretend that you wish to change your books, but instead slip away to the Abbey! I shall be there, and it is only a very little way!”

  19

  Emily kept the appointment, but little was gained by the clandestine interview. She arrived at the Abbey doors in a flutter, because she had caught sight of one of Mrs Floore’s acquaintances on the way, and could not be sure that she had not herself been seen. It was in vain that Gerard assured her that the sight of an unattended damsel traversing the short distance between the Pump Room and the Abbey would not shock the most prudish person: Emily could not be easy. He drew her into the Abbey, but, as might have been foreseen, this was found to be overfull of visitors, wandering about it, and looking at its beauties and antiquities. Even Gerard could not feel that he had chosen an ideal spot for the assignation; and as for Emily, she could lend him no more than half an ear, so much occupied was she in keeping a lookout for any more of Mrs Floore’s friends. In any event, it was only too plain that she was still in a state of miserable indecision, and the end of it was that they parted with nothing settled but that they should meet again that evening at the theatre. Mr Goring was coming to Bath later in the day, and had invited Mrs Floore and Emily to go with him to the box he had procured. This was just the sort of evening’s entertainment which exactly suited Mrs Floore, for not only did she enjoy any kind of spectacle, but the New Theatre being situated on the south side of Beaufort Square, she could go to it without being obliged to order out her carriage. When people marvelled at her choosing to live in Beaufort Square, she pointed this advantage out to them, adding that on such evenings as she was alone she was able to sit in the window of her drawing-room, and watch who was attending the theatre, and thus avoid being moped to death.

  Emily acquiesced in Gerard’s suggestion that he should obtain a seat in the house, but she showed no enthusiasm at the prospect
of being again urged to make up her mind. It was an exercise to which she was not at all accustomed. However, Gerard was insistent, and she gave way, reflecting that it was unlikely that he would find an opportunity to be private with her.

  She then sped back to the Pump Room, and Gerard, who had not journeyed into the west country prepared to make a prolonged stay, went off to purchase a shirt, and some additional neckcloths. It would have been too much to have said that his inamorata had disappointed him, but she had certainly disconcerted him. When he was himself behaving with what he considered to be amazing resolution, it was a little hard to find that the person for whom he had made his brilliant plan showed so Laodicean a spirit. Moreover, he had hoped to have left Bath by midday, and to be kept kicking his heels indefinitely in such a dangerous locality was not at all what he liked. At any moment, Rotherham, suspicious of his intentions, might take it into his head to come to Bath, just to make sure he was not there; and then, thought Gerard, where would they be?

  It was as he emerged from a shop in Bond Street that he had the misfortune to encounter one of the perils which beset him. He heard himself hailed, in surprised accents, and looked round to see Lady Serena, escorted by a tall man of very upright bearing, waving to him. There was nothing for it but to cross the street towards her, summoning to his lips what he hoped was a delighted smile.

  “Why, Gerard, how comes this about?” Serena said, giving him her hand. “What brings you to Bath?”

  “A friend—a college friend of mine, ma’am!” he replied. “Has been begging me for ever to pay him a visit! He lives here, you see, with his family. At least, not here, but just beyond the town!”