Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I

by Meredith Allady

  Ann a little lost sight of her design in relating this last example, which she found herself doing, it must be confessed, more with the intent to amuse, than to enlighten; for, though perfectly true, it could not be denied that the account contained elements more farcical than didactic. She had any number of arrows to loose off, however, and far from being concerned at one or two going astray, looked upon these first as mere practice shots. Of the resistance of her target, she had no doubt, armored as he was in his own conceit; and she had taken the trouble of amassing such a quiverful, precisely because she confided in the sheer volume of missiles, to discover that one effectual chink which must bring down his self-assurance. She was hastily preparing her bow for the next assault, when her mark, who had been smiling rather quizzically over her Fieldingesque tale, deliberately caught her eye, and said,

  “Miss Northcott, pardon me if I err, but I cannot escape the suspicion that there is a ‘thou art the man’ lurking for me somewhere in your speech. God knows I do not pretend to perfection, but I solemnly swear to you that I have never, even under the influence of unrequited love, kicked my valet down a staircase.”

  Miss Northcott’s blush, which had been quietly fading away under the ministrations of time and distraction, flared to bonfire dimensions once again, as she stared in consternation at her caller, while her thoughts ran in indignant, exclamatory phrases: “This was not at all what she had arranged! She had made no provision for a reprisal of this sort! She might have known, that he could not bear ever to do or say what was expected of him! And how dared he take note of her slender, subtle darts, as if they had been so many brickbats flung at his head?”

  “Yes,” retorted she, aloud, having worked herself up to a pitch of heated resentment in remarkably short order, and hardly knowing what she said, “I mean, no--but you do the Parrys! At least, you do not kick them downstairs, precisely, but you treat them as that man did his servants, by being vexed with them for what they cannot help!”

  He was silent, no doubt from surprise at this attack from one who had been speaking to him in anecdotes mere moments before; but thinking she discerned in his expression, some instantaneous denial or dismissal of her words, she rushed on before he could speak his repudiation:

  “You do! You do! You are angry with Julia for being kind to your brother, and she cannot help it--indeed she cannot! And why should she? She is kind--the kindest person I know--except perhaps for Kitty, or Lady Frances--but that is beside the point--and you behave to her as if she had done something wicked in smiling at him, and letting him trample all over her with his big, stupid feet! I have seen her poor toes quite bruised and painful from it next morning, and she would not say a word against him, or deny him next time he asked, though she had lords of every description waiting for her dances, and all he really wished to do was stand and talk about you the whole time, in that indigestible hash-up he thinks is English, so that all one can do is catch hold of every tenth word and try to piece together the meaning before a response is required! I know it is disagreeable to you that he is in love with her, but, Mr. Lenox, you are not your brother’s keeper! He is his own master, however poor, and a man’s heart is at the disposal of no one but himself: how, then, can you expect that he should consult your preferences before doing so? And how can you justify your resentment that he did not? Julia did not ask for his heart--she does not want it--but having been given it, she is handling it as carefully as she can. I suppose you would not have her toss it aside with open disdain, like a spoiled child with a gift it has no use for?--Or perhaps you would; perhaps that is what you mean by your stand-off, stiff-faced ways, taking offense at her smiles, and condemning her with your looks. But it is you--it is you--who are--wicked--to do it.” She ended on a gasp, having run short of breath, words and temerity at roughly the same moment.

  Mr. Lenox listened to this tirade, with a countenance which had inspired Ann to use the term “stiff-faced,” when casting around for an appropriate epithet to bestow on him. Of his other reactions she could not be sure, from her own agitation; she thought he might be rather pale; he certainly had not gained any color, which she would have judged a hopeful sign, as arising from shame; she wondered if he might be livid with fury, and was rather expecting every second to have demonstrated on her the fierce tone, the condemnatory phrases that had so shaken Clive that day in the park. Nothing of the sort, however, took place; he continued immobile. Waiting in dreadful suspense, she was struck by the notion, that someone, coming in, would think no more, than that he was considering a matter very thoroughly, before giving an answer, which she was politely awaiting.

  At length--perhaps it was two minutes, perhaps two hours, or two millennia later--he took an audible breath, and raised his eyes. Though Ann had just been thinking to herself that any speech would be preferable to his silence, she at once changed her mind, and frantically cued a number of articles, verbs and adjectives which, being unprepared, tumbled forth in considerable disorder, faltered, tripped, and came to rest in an unintelligible heap between them. He paused, and gave her space for an effort at revival; but wisdom had belatedly come to Ann, and she refused to have any more to do with her inglorious attempt to alleviate his wrath; seeing which, he dismissed it with a quick motion of his hand, and said,

  “Forgive me. To confront someone with fault is a hard thing, and I have made it no easier for you. May it be your comfort, that the endless seconds of my apparent dullness were spent grasping, and then acknowledging the truth of your charge. Miss Parry is everything that you have said; and in blaming her, and more, in letting her see that I did, I have been guilty of so many offenses against both charity and courtesy, that I am at a loss as to why this rebuke has been left so long--and to yourself. Mr. Parry should have ear-led me to the library the first week of our acquaintance; I cannot think why he did not.” Eye and brow made inquiry of Ann, but his every word was so contrary to her expectations, that her thoughts were in utter confusion, and she did not dare essay even the most veteran, hackneyed sentence by way of reply.

  After a moment, perhaps mistaking her silence for anger, he continued, “My sole excuse--and I offer it not out of any sense of my deserts, but because self-vindication bows only to self-preservation as the most fundamental instinct of mankind--is that I have been so occupied with the--difficulties of my own situation, that I did not appreciate--Ah, but why should I offer as an excuse, what is after all nothing more than a confession of further egotism? I did not trouble to consider Miss Parry, in any other light than as she affected my own concerns; and there the matter ends.”

  Still, Ann did not trust herself to speak; his gaze grew a trifle puzzled, but almost at once he hit upon what must have seemed to him a likely explanation, and asked, “Do you feel that I am making my apologies to the wrong person? But from your vehemence just now it is plain that my folly has caused you no little distress of mind; and I can hardly beg Miss Parry’s forgiveness until she returns. You have said you do not expect them home for several hours. Perhaps tomorrow night--”

  But at this, alarm loosened Ann’s tongue, and breaking in upon his musings, she gave him to understand, that a direct apology to Miss Parry was the last thing he should contemplate, if he truly desired to make amends for his former behavior. “No, no, you must say nothing! It would only embarrass her, for she has never acknowledged herself injured; and to be told that you had blamed her in the past, for whatever reason, would be as distressing to her, as if you continued to do so. She felt your--your censure as a mere--shadow on a sunny day. It will be enough if the cloud is removed from before the sun; the deed itself is what ensures comfort; there is no need to talk of such things.”

  She could see that he was not entirely convinced of the validity of her argument; but given the relation in which they stood to each other at that precise moment--rebuker to rebukee, injured to injurer--he could hardly be churlish enough to enter into a dispute with her over which of them was most able to judge what would best constitute Julia�
�s happiness. With knit brows he conceded her right to prescribe the form of his reparation, and shortly afterward took his leave. Only then did Ann’s racing heart begin to quiet.

  She could not quite believe in the progress of their interview, so different had it been from all her imaginings. She sat staring at the door for some minutes, beset by astonishment, relief, and an emotion she could not name, but which, if it ever recovered from the fright it had suffered, she decided might very well resolve itself into gladness. But her nerves would not allow her to be still for long, and she soon rose and paced about the room until discomfort demanded that the restlessness of her mind give way for a space to the inadequacies of her frame. Once more on the sofa, she found a certain relief in adopting a series of Attitudes, and it was whilst engaged in an tolerable representation of A Young Lady Distracted, that she was inspired to invent an Attitude of her own, illustrative of A Young Lady Visited By An Entirely New Idea.

  Why, what a fool she was! To be sitting, all fluttered and confounded, because Mr. Lenox had received her meddling with unexpected meekness, when in the circumstances he could scarcely have responded in any other fashion! To be amazed at his forbearance, when in the very speech attacking his behavior, she had removed the reason for it!

  In the midst of her tirade against him, she had unthinkingly sketched a picture of Sir Warrington, with his heart wholly given over to one, who not only had no intention of accepting the hand which accompanied it, but also no desire to grieve him by a precipitate rejection. Mr. Lenox must needs have been a good deal stupider than Ann knew him to be, not to have realized at once, that no other situation could have as effectively secured the safety of his inheritance. Sir Warrington, heart-whole and searching, was a danger; Sir Warrington, attached, and with prospects of success, an horror; but a Sir Warrington in love, and hopelessly so--why should Mr. Lenox not have been gracious?

  Ann could have laughed aloud at her own simplicity in supposing, even for a moment, that it had been her own eloquence, her own impassioned arguments, that had wrought such a sudden and marvelous change of heart in her visitor. But what did it matter, after all? It was not his heart that concerned her, only his demeanor, and that he had vowed to amend. His motives for doing so were entirely his own affair: let him remain as selfish as he liked, as long as he did not continue to distress Julia with his disapproval.

  This was not, of course, the end of all thought on the matter for Ann; but her nerves were greatly steadied by her discovery, for it helped to allay her apprehensions, that he might, in an excess of “remorse,” have felt it necessary to reveal the conversation that had prompted it.

  The Parrys, having been led astray by a likely-looking park, did not arrive home, until a full two hours after he had taken his leave; by which time Ann was sitting once more before the fire, composed and guileless, but, as Lady Frances immediately exclaimed over, and sent to rectify, mysteriously lacking in shawls.

  **

  Chapter XXVII

  The dinner given by Lady Lenox, being duly attended, proved to be much less memorable than Ann had feared. As matters stood, it was perhaps foolish of her to be in lively dread of her next encounter with Mr. Lenox, but dread it she did. She did not for a moment suppose that he would meet Julia at the door with loud exclamations of joy at her condescension in coming, beg from her a thousand forgivenesses for his previous behavior, fervently kiss her hand upon receiving them, and thereafter assiduously give himself over to maintaining her happiness until the last second when he handed her reluctantly into the carriage; but still, she could not help but wonder in what manner he would “remove the cloud.” Would he be delicate enough? Would Julia wonder? Would she suspect? Worse, would she ask questions?

  Nor was Ann at all eager for an evening spent listening to the verbal blushes which were Sir Warrington’s contribution to any conversation essayed in the presence of his mother; still less, for a further display of that lady’s skill in disposing of them. In short, there was not one member of the Lenox family whose absence Ann did not consider would greatly improve her prospects for enjoyment, and she dressed for the dinner, with the Kittyish hope, that there might be so vast an assortment of guests, as to preclude her ever having to say much to any of them.

  Her chief fears were banished almost at once, for Mr. Lenox greeted them all in exactly the same manner, as he had always done; toward herself, even, there was no added shade either or warmth or coolness. There being no other sign of consciousness between them, she faced the rest of the evening with sensations of relief, which were soon augmented by the sight of the number of persons already collected. There were, besides herself and the three eldest Parrys, a friend of Lady Lenox’s, Lady Charlotte H_____, and her husband and daughter, and the daughter’s companion; Lady Lenox’s uncle, Lord Bertram D_____, and his wife; and a gentleman who, by the excessive gallantry of his behavior to his hostess, immediately established himself as one of her beaus, and by his conversation, as a person whose birth or fortune must have been weighty indeed, to counterbalance its deficiencies of sense and content. But he was very entertainingly dressed, and on the whole, gave no more trouble to the company than a pug might, unwisely sent for, and insufficiently disciplined by its owner; and one could be grateful that at least he did not wheeze and snort. For the rest, there was only one other gentleman, and a young lady, his ward. The man was found to be, by his introduction, a clergyman; by his speech, a son of Erin (though not as thoroughly so as the baronet); and by the reception accorded him by his hostess, a poor relation, of the most objectionable sort. This last prejudiced Ann in his favor at once, a prejudice which received support from his behavior, which was unaffected, and thoughtfully cordial. She thought he gazed upon the Parrys with peculiar interest, and she noted also that the sons of the house did not share their mother’s disapprobation, for Sir Warrington spoke of and to Mr. Hayden (for such was his name) with great respect, and it seemed to Ann that Mr. Lenox took special pains to make him known to the Parrys, as someone worthy of their particular attention.

  The young lady who accompanied him was so very shy, that they were for some time left in doubt as to anything beyond the smooth alabaster of her brow, and the length of her eyelashes. When at last she was persuaded to look up for a moment, it was seen that she was pretty merely with the prettiness given by youth, and a good complexion. She had, perhaps, the better of Ann by the darkness of her lashes, and the curl of her hair, but little else; and beside Julia, of course, she was nothing at all, so that only Julia herself could have seen in the pair, anything to make her whisper to Ann in passing, “Berry Hill, I think!”

  But it cannot have been for a fancied likeness to any heroine of fiction that Julia chose to devote herself to Miss Denbigh’s ease of mind; rather, it must have been her marked resemblance to Kitty, in manner if not in appearance. At first, timidity would scarcely allow her to look up even when directly addressed. But seeing that Julia did not growl or snap at her for the inadequacy of her answers, or lose interest in her because of them, she gradually grew more at ease, and able to meet the gaze of her patient interlocutor for longer than half a second. Julia continued to talk of various matters, until at last she found one on which Miss Denbigh could speak with rather more readiness than any other--this happened to be the dozen or so hens that she kept at their home at Burndall, Sir Warrington’s property--which subject was then delicately pursued, until she grew confident enough to move beyond domestic fowl, and the darling little donkey given her by Sir Warrington himself, to a whole range of topics, including the precise nature of her connection to the family. This proved to be pretty much as Ann had thought. Her guardian being an nth-removed cousin of the late Sir Sylvan Lenox, he had been given a small cottage on that gentleman’s estate, and offered a certain living as soon as it should fall vacant; an offer which had been renewed by the briefly be-Sir’d Edmund, and happily confirmed by the rightful Sir Warrington. Lady Lenox, however, had been considerably vexed by her sons’ concordance in the
matter, having designed the place for a favorite of her own, a young gentleman who combined a notable ancestry with captivating manners, and had been recently frustrated in his desire to obtain a commission in the army, due to the circumstance of his having lost the purchase price at whist. Edmund she had quite forgiven, for he had done nothing but willfully disregard her wishes; but Sir Warrington had begged her pardon in a terrified manner, and declared that he would give the living to anyone she pleased, if only his brother would agree to it; and his brother remaining adamant, she naturally continued to hold Sir Warrington fully responsible for her disappointment.