Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I

by Meredith Allady

  It was not just in the absence of misery, that Julia had allowed Mr. Lenox to prescribe her emotions. All of those felt by her this evening, her anger, embarrassment, distress, anxiety--all, in the end, had been swallowed up, not just by relief, but by the pleasure she took, in hearing how highly the gentlemen in her family, for whose opinion she had any regard, had rated the conduct of Mr. Lenox throughout the affair. Mr. Parry, Major Merrion, her cousin, even the inarticulate St. Bees--she had found occasion to speak to them all on the subject, and from all she had received the same gratifying account. Her uncle’s opinion, she had even obtained twice, once from his own lips, and once from Ann, and she had listened to it the second time, with as much interest and satisfaction, as if she had never heard it before.

  This was a disturbing, a most unwelcome recognition. There was no need for Ann to ask herself what it could signify. Once her eyes were opened to it, she could think of only one worse sign, and that was, if Julia had been more concerned, with what Mr. Lenox had thought of them.

  Understanding had at last come to Ann, and she did not care for it at all. She thumped an intractable pillow, and wished she had attended more to the advice of Gray, and remembered that,

  “Thought would destroy their paradise.

  No more; where ignorance is bliss,

  ‘Tis wretched to be wise.’

  **

  Chapter XXXVII

  How does one trace the progress of an attachment? Love, as I am certain some one has previously pronounced, is a labyrinth, and unless one treads the same path, the steps which lead one woman steadily on to the appointed end, remain an utter mystery to the one who elects to sit and await her friend’s return. Julia was lost from view in the hedges before Ann so much as noticed that she had entered them.

  After the immediate alarm of the discovery had passed, Ann began puzzling over the whys and wherefores; but she found this a task beyond her powers, from never having felt the slightest temptation to investigate the maze herself. She could only shake her head in wonder over the mysterious workings of Preference, that intangible noun which decrees, often without discernible reason, that one man’s favorite dish will send another darting from the room in search of fresh air.

  It will doubtless be said, that the moment Mr. Lenox declined dancing with her, he placed himself outside the company of her admirers, and inevitably drew her notice. This may be true; one usually does mark a weed growing in the midst of an otherwise well-tended garden: but it does not follow that one must admire it; and to say that, because he scorned her when no one else did, she esteemed him, is to declare her perverse. I dare not say that Julia had no hint of perversity in her nature; but Ann did not observe in her any symptoms of partiality, until Mr. Lenox had been for some time a regular visitor at Merrion House, and had demonstrated his possession of a number of qualities, more amiable than his ability to be thoroughly repellent in a ballroom.

  And indeed, even now these symptoms were so very light, that for a time, Ann’s hopes warred most successfully against her suspicions, boasting, on their side, the steadiness of Julia’s complexion at the introduction of his name into the talk, or his person into the room; the unchanged liveliness of her spirits; and the continued soundness of her appetite.

  Ann’s experience of Love was all from books, but taking as her authority none other than Shakespeare himself, she felt tolerably assured, that any one who did not exhibit signs that must, in other circumstances, mark them as being halfway between Bedlam and a fatal consumption, could not possibly lay credible claim to being in any sort of love. Blasting sighs and conscious looks--color that both arrived and departed with the beloved--incessant babbling about his imagined perfections--a lean and hollow countenance, the consequence of having a mind temporarily exalted above such coarse considerations as maintaining oneself alive, or even in reasonable health--these were the accredited signs, for which Suspicion sought in vain. (The Bard also seemed to indicate, that in most cases, carelessness in dress accompanied ‘this ordinary lunacy’; but Ann was inclined to think this a purely masculine symptom; and in any event Julia was as neat in her dress as ever.)

  The only evidences Suspicion could cite in its defense, were of an immaterial and trifling nature: such things as the respect in which she held him and his opinions, her gratification at hearing him well spoken of by those she loved, and the manifest pleasure she took in his company and conversation. Ann, weighing these indeterminate tokens against the concrete lack of traditional sighs and blushes, was encouraged to the conclusion, that though her friend undoubtedly felt admiration for Mr. Lenox, coupled with a deep gratitude for his part in recovering her sister, she no more loved him than she did her cousin’s cat. Nor was the comparison totally inapt, for M’sieur D’Or was an unpredictable animal with irreproachable manners (when he troubled to employ them), who cared for no one but himself and his master, but who would occasionally, when the weather grew inclement enough, stalk into the drawing-room, and after much entreaty, condescend to use one or the other of his master’s relations as a cushion. Julia did not love this golden tyrant, but she honored him for his restrained behavior, and his affection for Lord Merivale, for whose sake she esteemed him so highly that she had been known to sit for hours without moving hand or foot, for fear of disturbing M’sieur’s self-satisfied slumbers.

  And having thus, with the aid of the ever-helpful Bard, banished Gray and disposed of Julia’s partiality, Ann at last found sleep; only to have all her fine deductions scattered the very next morning, by a pair of slippers.

  It was Kitty who introduced this calamitous footwear, as for some weeks past she had been at work upon pairs of these practical expressions of gratitude for both her shiny-armored knights. Sir Warrington’s were done in shades of yellow and gold, for these were his favorites; but Mr. Lenox’s had not yet been started, from the circumstance of his have no ascertainable preference in the matter, unless it might have been brown, as he owned a number of coats in this color. (Indeed, a certain monochromatic lord who shall not be named, upon meeting him at Merrion House clad in this hue three times in succession, became so visibly agitated by what seemed to him a deliberate infringement upon his own eccentricity, that he was only pacified by Mr. Lenox’s assurance, supported by the Parrys, that he not only owned other colors, but had actually worn a green coat upon the occasion of his last visit, if only the other had been present to see it.) But Kitty did not share the gentlemen’s penchant, and having refused to work much in a color she disliked, the question had been tossed about the family in a desultory fashion, without anyone yet producing a suggestion to gain the approval of the majority. On this morning Kitty introduced the notion, of matching the slippers to his eyes. Clive gave his opinion by way of a groan, but every one else present pronounced it an excellent idea--until the moment when she admitted to having no idea of what color this might be, other than she thought it must not be dark, inasmuch as “one tends to notice dark eyes.”

  What followed was, as Clive said, “a mass confession of unobservancy.” Some were so confident of their ignorance as not even to venture an opinion. Others thought they knew, only to dither the instant they were confronted by an opposing view, delivered with more conviction. Into the midst of this crucial debate came Julia, delayed by her maid over some business concerning the dress she was to wear that evening, and having been apprised of the difficulty, she at once settled it, by stating that Mr. Lenox had blue eyes, in so positive a manner, that no one could doubt but she had taken conscious note of it. Only Ann ventured to demur, and did so, partly from an honest difference of opinion, and partly from the hope, that in being challenged Julia would lose her assurance, as quickly as had others before her, demonstrating that whether Mr. Lenox’s organs of sight were azure or piebald, was as unimportant to her as it clearly was to everyone else. In this, Ann’s design failed, for Julia not only repeated her former assertion without hesitation, but also added the disastrous particulars, that the blue in question was modified b
y “rays of pale brown” around the centers, and that under the influence of an olive coat, they achieved a distinctly grayish cast, probably responsible for Ann’s notion that this was their primary shade. They were, however, really, unquestionably, blue. These final details fully satisfied every one as to Julia’s reliability as a witness, and the matter of the slippers was thereafter returned to Kitty, to implement as she pleased.

  Everyone having now assembled, the blessing was asked, and breakfast begun, but Ann found, that her hunger had quitted her without giving notice. One moment it was there, anticipating eggs and ham, the next it was no more. What were eggs, or even seed cakes, before such a disturbing revelation? Gone as well, was Ann’s hard-won belief in her friend’s indifference; for what could this knowledge of Julia’s signify, except that she was a great deal more familiar with the particulars of Mr. Lenox’s countenance, than an indifferent young lady had any business being? Ann, seeking to mitigate the offense, strove to call to mind the individual features of even one young man of her acquaintance, and could not. Town and country Greenlings, neighbors, her own male cousins, even Lord Merivale: all might have had boot-buttons for eyes, for all she could name to the contrary. (Major Merrion was an exception to this, but only because his were very brilliant, and of a dark shade of gray most unusual in a Merrion.)

  Ann gazed around the table, astonished at the stolidity with which Julia’s family continued to ply their knives and forks. Why was Kitty, in particular, buttering her bread with such composure? How could she, always so quick to take alarm at the merest suggestion, be so entirely oblivious to the sinister implications of her sister’s certitude? Ann might have expected such insensibility in the gentleman, but not in Lady Frances, and certainly not in Kitty, who ought to have been twittering like a cageful of frenzied parakeets. Ann puzzled over this, until, happening to espy Kitty’s eager face as Julia was asking of her uncle, when he thought they might reasonably expect to see Lord Merivale at Merrion House, it was at last borne upon Ann, that Kitty’s remarkable tranquility sprang from nothing more than her design for a match between her sister and her cousin, and her trust in the unrivaled merits of the gentleman, to bring it about. Moreover, as Kitty had long since allocated Mr. Lenox’s heart to some nameless daughter of Ireland, the possibility of his representing any sort of danger in this respect, would never occur to her. For Lady Frances’s dullness there still appeared no excuse, but Ann allowed that she might this morning be too much engaged in thinking of the Lenoxes as scandalously mistreated guests, to consider them in any other light.

  One consequence of this almost universal blindness, was that upon Ann fell the whole duty of producing all the worry and speculation and impractical scheming called for by the situation. This was indeed a heavy responsibility for one person, but by thinking of very little else throughout the day, by giving other matters only a quarter of her attention, and even retiring for several hours in the middle of the day in order to give herself over more completely to the task, by the end of it Ann could affirm with confidence, that had every member of the household been engaged in it, they could scarcely have accomplished more hours of useless fretting. Not only did she successfully increase her disquiet, and amass a number of excellent reasons to justify her instinctive aversion to the match, but by closely examining each stage of the acquaintance, she was able to discover, that had it not been for the intervention of either herself or her relations, it would never have advanced beyond “that first strange and fatal interview,” but instead have met with the precipitate end, intended for it by Mr. Lenox.

  Such results are not to be achieved without cost; Ann found it necessary to rob the day of even the most trifling enjoyments, in order to sustain the proper level of anxiety, and by evening was so wearied from her exertions, that she was in no frame to glean from an assembly those limited pleasures with which a young lady who cannot dance must content herself. Indeed, had Major Merrion, Lord Merivale, and the Lenoxes not been pledged to attend as well, she would have sent her excuses with much satisfaction. But how could she refuse the opportunity to continue her day’s work, by contrasting Julia’s behavior toward Mr. Lenox, with that toward her cousin; by keeping count of the number of times she danced with each, and weighing the chances of family affection and a gentle smile, against clever rejoinders, and eyes of brown-speckled blue?

  It will be seen from this, that her cogitations had also resulted in Ann’s taking a more favorable view of Kitty’s pet matrimonial scheme for her sister. It could scarcely be otherwise. As much as the impartial eye might see in Mr. Lenox to admire, it could not be denied that he had clung for over six years to a most unreasonable resentment, against one who displayed every eagerness to please him, and every desire to heal the breach. It did not signify how mild, or even how understandable, these feelings might be--resentment was still his master; and such conduct, such a fault, though tolerable in a seasonal acquaintance, would not do at all in a husband. Then there was the matter of Lady Lenox, of whom, perhaps, nothing need be said, save that, if offered a choice between them, Ann would have rather chosen to be locked up in a tower alone with Mrs. Robinson, and her offspring. Add to this, his residence in a country where half of the inhabitants were prepared to whistle the Marseillaise, and take up pike and prejudice against the other half at the least hope of success, and my reader may consider, that Ann would have been a very strange friend indeed, had she not preferred Merivale’s compliance and proximity, to assets such as these.

  **

  Chapter XXXVIII

  Approaching the assembly in this uncertain humor, it is perhaps not to be wondered at, that the sight of Lord Merivale, standing up with Julia, dressed in an extremely well-cut coat, should have enraged Ann beyond measure.

  It was one thing, thought she, for him to dine with his cousins dressed in that fashion; but to attend an assembly, and deliberately lay aside the only apparel in which he had any hope of appearing to advantage against the bulk of the other young men, and which he had a perfect right to wear, in favor of that sober-hued nothing, was an act of monstrous imprudence! Green was not scarlet, but it was a great deal better than gray, or drab, or whatever one wished to call that undistinguished shade. And was it not the unluckiest thing, that Julia should have been wearing her hair in a style that made her appear particularly tall, so that her partner, going down the middle with her, was made to look smaller and slighter than ever? Why on earth could he not have taken his lead from his uncle, who, however little he might stand in need of its resplendence, wore his red coat at all times, and in all seasons?

  As if knowing her thoughts, and presenting himself for the comparison, the next moment Major Merrion had come to sit beside her, and was inquiring, which of the industrious couples on the floor had incurred her displeasure?

  Ann impulsively confided the truth, deploring Lord Merivale’s coat, with a warmth and emphasis, which weariness prevented her from perceiving the full silliness of; and her passion received its due reward, in the mockery of her confidant. He lightly defended his nephew’s choice of raiment, by saying, that it was the mark of a good soldier, to make himself comfortable while he could, as once a campaign began he was not likely to meet with many opportunities to do so; and when Ann directed a significant glance at his own uniform, he responded, that from long usage he scarcely felt dressed without it; but Merivale being, for the same reason, more comfortable in colored clothes, why should he not wear them whenever he might?

  The explicit answer, that his inches, his figure, made it inadvisable--that her personal schemes for his future made it undesirable--that his amour propre should in any case have forbid it--could not, of course, be uttered. “It is a well-known fact,” said she, instead, “probably responsible for any number of militia recruitments, that all young ladies adore gentlemen in military garb. I suppose, being female, I must share this susceptibility, and it grieves me that a perfectly good uniform should be languishing in a trunk somewhere, with no one to admire it.”

>   “Nonsense!” said he, turning suddenly to fix his eyes on her face. He had been talking in a careless fashion, glancing now at her, now across the room at his sister, his nephew, his niece, his brother-in-law, as if the sight of so many members of his family, so near and so pleasantly occupied, was one he could not too often enjoy; but something in Ann’s last remark had arrested his attention, and caused him to look down at her, as if reviewing in his head, every sentence that had gone before it. After a moment he said “Nonsense” again, and then, “What is behind this? For all your perspicuity, in general you take no more notice of Merivale than you do the fire-irons. What has he done, or not done, to provoke this impassioned criticism?”

  “Why, nothing!” denied Ann; but discomfited by his keen look, and her conscience, and, it must be admitted, more than a little gratified by the knowledge that he thought she possessed perspicuity (however much he might be impugning it in the present instance), she could not prevent a heated blush overspreading her face. The immediate consciousness of how this must appear, the inferences which might be drawn from such an ill-timed color, increased both it and her confusion to such an extent, that she was for some moments incapable of thinking in anything but exclamation points, and without the power to vocalize even these. If he should think---! But, he could not help but think--! And she could not explain without revealing all her conjectures and suspicions, and with them things she had no right to reveal! And how foolish and intricate it must sound if she did! Of all the stupid, missish things, to blush at such a moment! It was inexcusable! She raged at herself for an irremediable nidget, and trembled for the predicament her complexion had created.