Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I
Page 16
The Parrys were too good-natured--or too grateful--to do more than lift an occasional brow at this blithe encroachment; and Ann, by assiduously bearing in mind her own trifling claim on their hospitality, was able to curb any sign of ill-humor as well. Mr. Lenox’s confidence in the indelible nature of his own appeal did not equal his brother’s, and after coming several times to Merrion House, he began once again to decline invitations, careless to whether or not the Parrys would be able to support themselves under the deprivation. Sir Warrington felt this thoughtlessness as one would expect, and took upon himself the task, of obscuring the fact of Mr. Lenox’s absence, by introducing his opinions into every conversation; and if the subject happened to be one, on which Mr. Lenox had inexplicably failed to offer an opinion in his hearing, Sir Warrington would endorse the view of whoever was espousing his or her cause with the most success, by announcing his assurance that his brother, if the matter were put to him, would doubtless share the sentiments of that particular person. For instance, on the critical matter of the length of fringe suitable for a parasol, when carried by a young lady with any pretension to taste, Mr. Lenox had apparently kept all his personal convictions selfishly locked up in his own breast, so that Sir Warrington could predict his brother’s judgement in favor of Julia, only after Ann had meekly acknowledged to her, that perhaps six inches, was, after all, a trifle excessive. Of Sir Warrington’s own opinion, nothing need be said, since once his brother had ruled on a matter, even in absentia, any other view was, of course, wholly untenable.
This inevitable interjection, of one more voice in a matter than there were persons discussing it, caused Ann to point out, that they heard less from Mr. Lenox, when he was present in a room, than when he was not, and moved Clive to pen the following elegant verse:
“’The voice of the people’ did make the earth shake,
Not from words that they uttered, but the numbers that spake;
And, generally speaking, this maxim is true,
That th’ assault on the eardrums has something to do
With the tally of talkers collected around ’em:
But a new breed is come--in London we found ’em.
The fewer there are, the more words close in,
And double the number, is half of the din.
Unnatural reversal! Convention undone!
Our ears fall before a battalion of one.
No mercy expected, and none will be shown,
If this pitiless breed is not joined by his own.
But lo! comes another, restrained and polite;
A damper in waistcoat: a beautiful sight!
The chatter decreases, when e’er he appears;
The second O’Lenox--balm to our ears.”
This literary effort met with varying responses, dependent on the exact degree of heartlessness present in the listener. The extent of Ann’s mirth, may have caused the Parrys to wonder how her blood ever managed to circulate its way through her veins; while Julia covered her face and shook her head in reproof, even as laughter spilled between her fingers. Kitty only smiled a troubled smile, and said, “But, Clive, their name is not O’Lenox, it is just Lenox.”
To which her brother replied, that she should not blame him, for an etymological circumstance, that could probably be laid at the door of “a certain Lady of terrifying diction and forceful prejudices, who shall not be named.”
Shortly after this, it was discovered, quite without design, that the way to ensure a plurality of Lenoxes, was to invite one of them to go riding in the park. A small party from Merrion House went, nearly every morning, to take this form of exercise, and since they chose to go at an impossibly early hour (impossible, that is, for any one who had stayed out fashionably late the night before), it had not at once occurred to them that Sir Warrington would care to add himself to their numbers. But a casual reference, made by Lady Frances, to this morning custom, had him pouncing on it instantly, and gratuitously assuring every one, that to begin his days by riding in the park with the Parrys, was the only thing wanting, to make them entirely wonderful. To be properly mounted, had, he continued, been almost his first concern after arriving in town, and although his brother had gone about procuring suitable hacks with his habitual diligence, of late they had found only infrequent opportunities to ride. Furthermore, he entertained not the faintest doubt, that when his brother heard of the Parrys’ admirable scheme for circumventing both the clock and the crowds, he would be anxious to join them as well. These were not, of course, the baronet’s exact words on the subject, but Ann was beginning to pride herself on her ability to translate all but his most colloquial speeches, and she was tolerably sure that this was, in fact, what he said; or at any rate, what he meant.
Much to her surprise, Sir Warrington was proved, on this occasion, to have gauged his brother’s response with accuracy. Mr. Lenox sent ’round at once, to know if his presence would indeed be acceptable to the Parrys, and to ask, if it would be a great inconvenience to them, if they were all to meet at the entrance of the park, instead of at Merrion House, as had been arranged. They were not used, wrote he, to riding in London streets, and preferred not to complicate their stay in town, by any untoward meetings with its cobblestones. This did not sound promising; nor was it altogether congruent, with Sir Warrington’s expressed enthusiasm for riding, or his boast that his brother was the best horseman in county Antrim.
Ann, having come upon her friend frowning down at the harmless form of a fashionable and becoming habit, suggested as a reason for the frown, the fear that the addition of inferior horsemen might curtail their own pleasure in their early rides. Julia shook her head, and said, that she had no anxiety on that head, but, “When Mr. Lenox is anywhere around, I can never be entirely comfortable, for wondering if I am speaking too much, or too loudly; if my dress, so unexceptionable on paper, is gaudy in person; or if what I have just said, is precisely what I would have said, had I not known him to be within hearing. In short, when he is by, I do nothing but think about myself, and the impression I am creating--and there is nothing more tiresome in the world, than thinking and fretting about such a subject, for hours on end. It is not his fault--you must not think it. He has never, by word or look, given me reason to suppose he has any extraordinary degree of interest in what I wear or do or say. The fault is to be found solely within myself.”
Ann was astonished; although she had occasionally noted that Julia was not as lively in Mr. Lenox’s presence, nothing had caused her to suspect that her friend was as badly affected as this. It did not take her long to realize that it must be the result of being unused to disapproval. She, having lived with it all her life, was in some measure immune to it; but Julia was like the natives of Polynesia, who, having never before encountered such a thing as a measle, were entirely unable to support themselves under the affliction, and fell before it at once.
Julia said no more on the subject, and soon put away the dress and left the room, leaving Ann to give herself over to a contemplation of Mr. Lenox’s sins; with the result, that she was very indignant against him all that day, and by morning had ruminated so long on the injustice and absurdity of his behavior, as to be quite taken aback, upon arriving at the park, to find him gentlemanlike and conversable, and not the openly arrogant, irremediable toad, he had grown to be in her head. Her injury would not allow her to ride for long distances, or at anything more jarring than a walk, and at the height of her animosity she had framed a plan to entrap him by her side, and weary him with half-recollected Lyrical Ballads, that Julia might be free to canter on ahead, and forget his existence; but this scheme had now, regretfully, to be abandoned. Ann’s regret might perhaps have been the greater, had the sight of him not introduced the unwelcome suspicion, that given the history of her past attempts to gain ascendancy of him in conversation, she was quite as likely to have found herself subjected to the entire Iliad (in the original Greek) as to have succeeded in her vengeful intentions.
Sir Warrington could scarcely
wait to exchange greetings before showing off his “suitable hack,” and gaining every one’s affirmation, that it was one of the handsomest “bastes” they had ever seen. Its lines were elegant; it seemed almost ready to exceed itself with good-health and good-eating; and the gleam of its coat would have shamed a dandy’s boot. Julia had only to add, that she had always been partial to a bay, to render him completely euphoric. He was almost speechless with it, and could only manage to convey, that his brother and chosen this splendid animal especially for him, and that its name was Curran, before degenerating into idiomatic bliss. Mr. Lenox had chosen for himself a less eye-catching mount, and Ann was unwillingly impressed, by this instance of self-abnegation, particularly as Sir Warrington had quite the worst seat of any one she had ever seen, not excepting Kitty, who was terrified of horses, and never approached one that was not secured between poles. He sat his “Splindid Baste” with less form than a small boy riding a fallen tree, and Ann, glancing over at Mr. Lenox, felt her indignation against him unravel still further, and was moved to pay him a compliment on his powers of selection, by way of amends for her former hard thoughts. His acknowledgement was a “too kind,” and a very faint smile indeed; and she was to recall this piece of modesty later, and put a somewhat different construction on it, than she did at the time.
As Ann had always made it a condition of her joining the Parrys, that she be left to set her own pace, without anyone feeling the necessity to match it, she was soon left to her position of rearguard; but she was not terribly surprised to see, that Sir Warrington’s good-nature had overcome his good-sense, and that, in defiance of her request, he was falling back to pace his mount to hers. She could not help but be touched, but the truth was that she had by far rather ride alone, than with a companion on one side, and guilt on the other; and after allowing him to gratify his benevolent feelings for a few minutes, during which they did little more than smile at one another, she was then opening her lips to urge him to join those ahead, when it came to her, that he was matching her leisurely gait, through no design of his own. She closed her lips, and fell to studying this curious circumstance, and was soon satisfied of it having little to do with the ineptitude of the rider. Sir Warrington was sending the correct signals, and doing so, with a vigor that made Ann wince, and convinced her, that there was no possibility of their not being received; rather, they were deliberately disregarded by a mouth and hide apparently composed of some substance approximating iron. Curran, by his determinedly placid gait, seemed to be signifying, that, though cognizant of his duties as a means of transportation, he declined to expend any more energy in his performance of them, other than was required by painful external pressures. Further observation confirmed the suspicion, that here was a horse, for whom the terms “high-spirited” and “nervous” had no meaning; and one, moreover, who would probably greet the suggestion that he should run, by sinking immediately to the ground, overcome by the equine equivalent of a Spasm.
As Sir Warrington had claimed prior--if infrequent--experience upon Curran, Ann marveled that his admiration had survived the first trial, and could only conclude, that his own unhandiness, coupled with his belief in the infallibility of the one who had chosen the animal, was enough to persuade him that any failing must lie in himself alone. Ann pitied his frustration, but was forced to hold her tongue, from knowing no kind way of telling him that his brother had imposed upon him, and that his splindid baste was no more than a showy sluggard.
On this occasion, however, Sir Warrington’s childlike persistence stood him in good stead, and at length it seemed to dawn upon Curran, that the unmannerly excrescence perched upon him, was not going to acknowledge defeat:
“His horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.”
Curran protested with the twitch of a fretful ear, and the blowing of a deep sigh, and then, with every evidence of the greatest reluctance, produced a kind of shuffling trot. A look of delighted triumph suffused Sir Warrington’s features, and with a gleeful wave, he went bouncing off to catch up to the rest of the party.
His triumph was short-lived, however, as the instant he relaxed his vigilance, he was forced to watch the others begin to pull steadily away from him; and he noted the diminution of the space between himself and Ann, with a look of lively dismay, which in anyone else would have been the grossest insult. He at once renewed his efforts, and either he was acquiring the knack, or Curran was beginning to realize that this particular rider was impervious to those intimations of incurable lassitude, which had worked so nicely on former occasions; in any event, after only a few minutes’ persuasion, he unearthed quite a pretty canter, and managed to sustain it with tolerable regularity, for the remainder of the ride.
Despite this progress, Ann spent the rest of the time, once again reassembling her thoughts on Mr. Lenox, and yearning to retract that compliment, which she had been inveigled into paying, at first sight of the deceptive bay. For this she was not vouchsafed an opportunity, until the very end of the ride, when, upon approaching the gate, they became more or less all grouped together, and Ann briefly found herself at a stand beside him, with no one very near.
“Mr. Lenox,” said she, directly, “it has been borne upon me, that Curran is a very poor sort of horse.”
“Miss Northcott,” said he, in the same manner, “has it not also been borne upon you, that my brother is a very poor sort of rider?”
As she had fully expected him to disclaim responsibility by pleading the horse’s appearance, she was unprepared for this speech, and stood mutely as he moved away, perplexed as to how to understand his words. Hope suggested, that her candor had shamed him into attempting to justify his duplicity; Honesty acknowledged, that chagrin had not been evident in his manner. She puzzled over his response until it occurred to her, that of the two brothers, she was more in need of an interpreter for the one who spoke plain English, than the one who habitually tortured his vowels past recognition. The thought amused her, and she decided, in a more charitable humor, to grant Mr. Lenox sufficient stupidity to have been taken in by a glossy flank and an unscrupulous horse-dealer.
**
Chapter XXV
Sir Warrington’s horse was, inevitably, the main topic on the ride back to Merrion House. Clive and Ann merely entertained themselves with its abuse, but the remarks of Mr. Parry and Julia showed, that they were more exercised with how to provide the baronet with a new mount, without giving offense to either brother. It was a difficult problem, for having no known precedent, it had no proven solution, and they were forced to witness Sir Warrington’s exertions for several more days, before Mr. Parry, pleading the necessity of the next morning being spent attending to letters of business, made it a point of particular favor, for Sir Warrington to take his mare to the park in his stead. Though only, you may be sure, if the baronet judged that Curran could sustain the loss of his early ride without becoming too restive.
There could be no doubt of Sir Warrington’s reply. Even had his own mount been the best-tempered, sweetest ride in London, he would probably have neglected it with as much eagerness as he did the infamous Curran; for after all, a Parry had requested it of him.
Sir Warrington left Merrion House in raptures, and Ann hoped that Mr. Lenox might say nothing to check his brother’s pleasure. She did not see how, having as good as admitted the inferiority of his own selection to her, he could then seek to deny Sir Warrington this respite; but she could not dismiss the suspicion, that he would attempt to discourage the exchange, merely from dislike of his brother’s intimacy with the Parrys, which it demonstrated.
Though she had no doubt he would have denied it vigorously, the scene that was enacted the next morning made her fancy that the same notion may very well have occurred to Sir Warrington. They had arranged for the exchange to be made at the entrance of the park, and the look upon Mr. Lenox’s face, when it became clear that M
r. Parry was not to join them, and that his brother proposed handing over his own baste to the longsuffering groom, and bestriding an animal who might be prepared to do his bidding without first consulting all the possible alternatives, was the look of a man who receives news as surprising, as it is disagreeable.
The nervous and apologetic manner in which Sir Warrington talked of the transfer, and the affectionate leave he took of the uninterested Curran, was enough to confirm Ann’s first impression; and she watched Mr. Lenox with, it must be admitted, a rather malicious eye. Poor equestrian though he undoubtedly was, Sir Warrington was nevertheless capable of appreciating the difference between Mr. Parry’s horse and his own, and his efforts to praise his present mount, without seeming to denigrate his former, kept him, for some time, pretty constantly employed in modifying and explaining away whatever it was he had said the moment before. Mr. Lenox, who might have made everything easy by a few words laughingly acknowledging the mediocrity of his own choice, had nothing to say, except, when directly applied to by Sir Warrington, to dismiss Mr. Parry’s mare, with a short, “Very pretty indeed.”
Ann was incensed by his behavior, and when Julia, deeply troubled by this reception of her father’s kindness, came along side to whisper, “Oh Ann, what have we done? Mr. Lenox is most dreadfully hurt and offended,” it was only with the greatest struggle, that she refrained from replying, that she wished it might do him good.
But having contrived that every one should be made so well aware of his displeasure, as to prevent any repetition of the incident that had provoked it, without his ever having to actually utter a discourteous word, Mr. Lenox then lapsed into his usual manner, and sought to engage Ann and Julia in a conversation on indifferent topics; which, however, they were ill-qualified to sustain, the one from oppression of spirits, the other from pure vexation. For herself, Ann did not think he deserved to be supported in this belated affectation of unconcern, and the appearance of complaisance, which such a conversation would give him; and gladly would she have left him to reap the clipped monosyllables which are ungoverned temper’s just reward, had she not known it would grieve Julia, who was trying valiantly to meet like with like, and put away her discomfort, as he appeared to have put away his displeasure.