Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I

by Meredith Allady

  But before any such opportunity arrived to gratify Ann, she was instead summoned from her post by a servant, who came to tell her that Sir Warrington was again below, and wishing very urgently to speak with her. Unhappily, she was sitting actually within the room at the time, and Kitty could not help overhearing something of the message, and became agitated at once, trying to raise her head, and exclaiming, in a frightened tone, “Oh! I had forgotten--they are to come to dinner tonight!” Ann hurried out, dreading lest Sir Warrington take it into his head to come looking for her, as he was not used to stand on ceremony at Merrion House, and leaving the others to calm Kitty as best they might.

  Ann had assumed that Sir Warrington had desired her presence only upon being told that Julia was not able to see visitors; but in this she wronged him: it was herself and no other that he had come to see, and to his mind, she only would do. He was so eager to explain himself, that he was forced to repeat each sentence three or four times, before she could at all understand him. Eventually he succeeded in communicating that he had just come from his brother, to whom he had revealed the true state of affairs, just as she had instructed him to do (Ann raised her brows at this ingenious revision of their conversation, but did not bother to demur)--and yet, here was a remarkable thing: his brother did not believe him!

  A few surprised exclamations from Ann, had Sir Warrington hastening to clarify the exact area of disbelief. It was not that Mr. Lenox could not credit his brother’s selfless motive in coming to London; what he refused entirely to credit, was his brother’s assertion, that Miss Parry was in love with him, and awaiting only his proposal, to let the thing be known. As Sir Warrington had been able to give as his authority for this admittedly rather astounding intelligence, no one but that Epitome of Insight, Miss Ann Northcott, Ann felt that Mr. Lenox was scarcely to be reproached for his skepticism. Indeed, she was rather pleased at this evidence of good-judgement in him, and silently approved the reservations that had stopped him rushing over to Merrion House upon receiving the tidings, eager to claim the heart which he had been told was his for the asking. Particularly was she glad, since had he done so, he must have found that the heart in question was beating anxiously at the bedside of a sister, who was no doubt busily devising ways to prevent his ever acquiring it.

  Ann was not so foolish as to share any of these reflections with Sir Warrington, but sought instead to depress the notion that she had a right to speak for Julia on any matter of such importance. She attempted, without precisely retracting her rash declaration of the morning, to persuade him that persons, not directly concerned, really had no right to meddle in a matter of such delicacy, other than was involved in seeing misconceptions removed. But she could see he was not at all satisfied with this passive plan, and soon found, that his whole purpose in coming to Merrion House was to induce her to return with him to Berkeley Square, where she was to descend on Mr. Lenox, and convince him, by many infallible proofs, that Miss Parry loved him etc. etc. Or at the very least, write him a letter to this effect.

  When Ann very firmly declined doing either of these things, he did not, could not, understand her reasons; and she was some time even making him understand that it did not signify how often, and in how many different ways he explained his wishes, for she was not going to alter her decision. At length, seeing no other prospect of deliverance, she was forced to use Kitty’s indisposition to excuse herself, and employing a solemn look, and purposely vague language, managed to convey to her visitor, without ever saying so, that Kitty’s requiring to be kept in bed for the rest of the day, somehow prevented Ann from leaving the house, or even sparing the time it would take to scratch out a few lines on a piece of paper. The question of how she could then have spent some thirty minutes arguing with an obtuse guest in the drawing-room seemed not to occur to him, and you may be sure Ann did not mention it.

  A further quarter of an hour was then expended in satisfying him that he could do nothing to help the invalid--ten of that assuring him that it certainly was not possible for him to visit her--and he was at last taking a disconsolate leave, when the same thought that had struck Kitty upon his arrival, struck him at his departure, and exclaiming “that Miss Pairy cud tale him herself tonight, thin!” he took himself off with a happy countenance.

  **

  Chapter LI

  Returning, with a mind somewhat exasperated, to her supposedly crucial post at Kitty’s bedside, Ann was delighted to find that the maxim of the watched pot had proven true, and that as soon as she had left off waiting for them, her desires had come about. Julia was left in sole charge of the invalid, who appeared to have fallen very thoroughly asleep. Ann suspected laudanum.

  Julia looked up at Ann’s entrance, and it seemed to Ann, that her look asked the reason for Sir Warrington’s calling again, and so soon. Ann did not, of course, have any notion of spoiling the artistry of her account by starting at the end, and seating herself close beside her friend, with another quick glance at Kitty’s closed eyelids, she began her tale.

  Julia was in many respects a model listener. She did not once interrupt the flow of the narrative with questions or objections, or grow impatient at Ann’s once or twice mistaking the order of the exchange, and having to correct herself. Nor was Ann given any cause to suppose her friend’s thoughts ever wandered from the strictest attendance on her words, though it is true that her eyes, in their turn, seldom wandered from their contemplation of her sleeping sister.

  Ann had been a little anxious, as she told of her first conversation with the baronet, and of her being betrayed into telling him that Julia did, in fact, love his brother, that her friend would not thank her for the liberty; but Julia only colored slightly, and briefly looked down at her hands.

  At last Ann was finished. Sir Warrington had for the second time impetuously departed the house, and there was nothing more to relate. After some moments of silence, Julia stirred, and thanked her, and suggested that she go and dress for dinner. What could Ann do but acquiesce? She rose in considerable puzzlement, to put on something--she knew not what--thinking hard the while on the inexplicability of even well-loved and bosom companions, and eventually beginning to reproach herself for spoiling, by her own impatience to tell it, a narrative that would not have been in the least harmed by a few hours’ maturation. She saw now, how much better it would have been, had she awaited Julia’s direction, instead of rushing into speech at the first opportunity, careless as to whether the other was at that time in a position to frame the correct responses. How could she ever have expected Julia to comment, to take her back over phrases, to request a repetition of any sentence of particular interest, as she had done the night they returned from Pettering House, when there, ever before her eyes, had lain the one person, beloved as she was, who could yet admit a very substantial impediment to the marriage of true minds? Quite disgusted with her own maladroitness, Ann sat before the mirror long after everything that could be done for her hair had been accomplished, in sightless contemplation of her stupidity; until by and by she recollected that Julia had mentioned waiting for her friend’s return, before going to dress herself. This effectively roused Ann from where she was sitting and staring in one chair, to go and sit and stare more usefully in another. However, she was still several yards from the door of Kitty’s room when it was opened suddenly, and Julia started out, looking as wild as Ann ever remembered seeing her. On perceiving Ann, she burst out, “Thank God! I thought no one would ever come--Ann, run fetch Mama at once!” and without waiting for any response, disappeared back within the room, from whence unmistakable sounds of disturbance could be heard. So great was Ann’s surprise, that for a second or two she did not move; then she came to herself, and starting around, set off on her mission. She had taken but a few steps when she saw Julia’s maid approaching, and hurried her quite unnecessarily with a few urgent and disconnected words, before continuing on. She had a fair notion of where Lady Frances must be, and made her way as quickly as possible to the nursery, u
rgently calling out, as she drew near, in a manner that would have scandalized her mother, who had instructed her from earliest years, that a lady never “called”--she rang, and sent; or if this was inappropriate to the situation, she searched from room to room in a dignified manner, until she found the object of her search, and then behaved as if she had just happened upon it.

  Never had Ann deplored the spaciousness of Merrion House as she did that day; nor marveled at the mysterious manner in which servants, always present, were never to be found when one needed them most. But Lady Frances was where Ann had thought she would be, and a few seconds were all that were needed to send her flying past Ann and away to the aid of her daughters. Ann returned more slowly, from necessity, and meeting Clive on a stair, headed in the same direction (for the news of the crisis, whatever it was, had quickly spread throughout the house, so that everyone, without even knowing whom, or where, or what, was nevertheless aware that something was seriously amiss), she gained an escort, and made use of his arm as she breathlessly shared her ignorance and information. Not only Lady Frances, but Mr. Parry and perhaps three or four servants had arrived at Kitty’s room before them. Two of the latter departed almost at once, with faces full of tasks to be accomplished, and were replaced by Margaret and Gerard, who joined Ann and Clive to form an apprehensive knot to the right of the door, where little could be understood of the various commands and exchanges inside, less could be seen, but far too many things could be feared. One phrase of Julia’s they heard, and that with lamentable clarity, as, her voice shaking on a note of horror, she exclaimed, “Her hands were blue.”

  At last, the activity of the room grew less, the voices seemed to lose some of their urgency; Mr. Forbes arrived again, bringing with him a comforting air of never expecting to meet with anything he had not met and dealt with many times before.

  It was not long after this, that the door, which had never been fully shut, opened to allow Lady Frances to emerge a little way into the hall, gently urging Julia out before her. But she kept her other hand on the doorknob, as if to relinquish all claim on the room, was to do a disservice to its chief occupant. She spoke to all their anxious eyes with the words, “We think--there is no danger now, my dears,” but it was to Ann that she looked, saying, “Julia should rest. Ann, you will take care of her, will you not?” before once again disappearing behind the door.

  With Clive’s silent assistance, Ann walked Julia to their room; several times she suspected that her friend was in danger of fainting, so pale was she--and once or twice she mis-stepped; but she reached her bedside by her own exertions, and there sat, as if her strength, having transported her safely, had then deserted her completely and at once. Ann rang for a glass of wine, and Clive, after a long, serious, anxious look at his sister, and another one, seeking reassurance, at Ann, upon receiving a nod, returned to his vigil.

  At first Julia was too distressed even for the refuge of tears, and sat intermittently shivering, and trying to talk, even as Ann helped her to take some of the wine. Ann at first thought to discourage her friend from telling her anything--but it seemed Julia needed to speak of it--and sentences began to tumble forth. “It was a nightmare, I think--she was asleep, and suddenly began to be restless, and to breath very heavily, and then she cried out, so that I sought to wake her--but then she sat up very quickly, looking--wild--panicked--and when she saw me she began to sob, and to try to tell me how--she had dreamt that I had left for---for Ireland, and the packet--there was a storm, or an accident, she said, and I had been drowned--she saw me fighting in the water, and could do nothing--sinking--pulled up lifeless--you know how she has always been terrified of water, since--I wished very much to ring the bell, but could not reach it, from her holding on to me--I tried to calm her, but she grew more and more agitated, and then she began to gasp, and she could not seem to catch her breath at all--and--and then she let go my hand, and flung back her head--and she was holding onto her chest, and tearing at her night-dress as if it caused her pain, as if it were too heavy, a weight crushing her, and she could not breathe--I saw she could not breathe--and her hands were blue! I rang the bell again and again, but no one came, and I was afraid to leave--I did not know what to do--I could not think what to pray--but then you came--and then--and then Mama--and she seemed to know what to do, to make her quieter--When she was very young, she used to have such spells--it is thought--Dr. Pitcairn said perhaps her heart--we are never sure--we have always taken the greatest care--but it was so very bad---I thought she was going to die--I thought she was going to die--and I could do nothing but watch!”

  Having said this, she could not continue, and after one or two further attempts, burst into tears; nor could Ann forbear following her example; and perhaps hers were the more painful, from having such a strong admixture of guilt: for how could she doubt that she was directly responsible, not only for Kitty’s initial collapse, but for this last frightening incident as well? Her insistence on speaking to Julia of Sir Warrington’s calls when and where she did, though in low tones, must in some fashion have contributed to the composition of Kitty’s sleeping fancies, and provoked in her such terrifying visions.

  Ann was not long insensible to the fact, that no sooner had Mr. Lenox been delivered from his own difficulties, than the very same situation arose in Julia’s, and in a much stronger form. Mr. Lenox would only have had to steel himself against his brother’s disappointment; but for Julia to disregard her sister’s wishes, would, at this point, very probably endanger not only Kitty’s happiness, but her very life.

  It was the sort of situation, which, had they come upon it between the covers of a novel, the Parrys would have scorned as an awkward contrivance. Ann could almost hear the mocking suggestions that would have been proffered to the absent author, and the resultant laughter; nor would she herself have been a silent figure in the scene. But now, she found she could not even smile at it.

  **

  Chapter LII

  Sir Warrington and Mr. Lenox did not, after all, come to dinner. Scarcely had the memory of their being expected returned to further unsettle the girls’ minds, than a footman from Berkeley Square arrived with a note, and put their flutterings to rest. Mr. Lenox, of course, knew nothing of the latest upset to the household. He knew only his brother’s report, of Miss Northcott’s inability to return with him due to Miss Kitty’s indisposition; but this knowledge was sufficient to suggest to him, that the presence of two guests, at such a time, might easily be dispensed with, and caused him, greatly to Sir Warrington’s dismay, to send round a note proposing as much. This proposal being accepted, with much gratitude and a carefully worded explanation by Mr. Parry, it was not until the following morning that Julia and Mr. Lenox first saw each other in the new light provided by the baronet’s astonishing disclosure.

  It was not the sort of dramatic encounter beloved by novelists, even good ones. Mr. Lenox did not start to his feet upon her entrance, turn pale, and clasp her hand, exclaiming, “Can it be true, my lovely angel? Are you indeed Mine?” He did rise, of course, but only to shake hands as usual, and ask how she did; and Julia did not faint, though it may hearten my more romantic readers to be told that she did, in fact, look a trifle unwell, which was likely the reason for the added concern in his manner, as he asked after her health.

  It was Ann’s belief, that the hope which had come to her friend, had been too swiftly followed by the disappointment of realizing that no obstacle had really been removed, only transferred and enlarged; and together they had overset the fragile balance of peace, which Julia had previously maintained only by the utmost vigilance of soul. Even so, she might have regained her equilibrium in the time allowed her by the postponement of the dinner invitation, had not her emotions been thoroughly wrung out and disordered by Kitty’s violent spell. Small wonder, then, if she should look rather wan, and be unable to respond with anything but the faintest resemblance of her former manner.

  Ann, having been present at each stage of this painful progr
ession, had little doubt of reading her friend’s symptoms aright; but it could not be expected that Mr. Lenox would be able to discern in them anything other than the anxiety and fatigue natural to one who had been attending to the needs of a sorely afflicted sister. If he came with any hope of being able to perceive in Julia some indication that what his brother claimed was actually true, that her heart, incredible as it might seem, did indeed incline toward him (and to Ann it did not seem possible that he could come without such a hope), then it was a hope of such exceedingly modest proportions, as scarcely to deserve the name. Ann fancied that the first look he directed at Julia was perhaps a trifle more searching than was common with him; but then, reading in her weary countenance and smile of resolute friendship no hint of encouragement, he at once folded hope neatly away, and pocketed it out of sight, as if he had only brought it along on a whim, and had never any serious expectation of its being received.