Mary Or The Perils 0f Imprudence

by Catherine Bowness

  Chapter 13

  The dancing master having bowed himself out of the room with assurances that Miss Porter would be dancing the cotillion with both style and confidence within the next few days, it was time for the music teacher to take centre stage beneath the iron regard of his employer.

  Signor Pontielli rose from the instrument, performed a graceful obeisance towards the senior lady and invited the junior to seat herself at the pianoforte.

  “Please run through your scales first, Miss Porter,” he said.

  In spite of this being an exercise at which Susan excelled she was required to repeat all twelve major scales several times before her tutor pronounced himself satisfied; even this, it turned out, was not by any means the end of this exceedingly tedious drill as she was immediately told to run through all the minor ones as well, until interrupted by Mrs Porter.

  If Signor Pontielli had hoped that his employer would become so bored or irritated by the repetition that she would abandon her post, he must have been disappointed. Mrs Porter was not what is known as a ‘musical’ person. In her youth she had played with a similar lack of feeling and considerably less technical skill than her daughter. When asked to play, she had done so in such a way that no one could recall her ever having been begged for a repeat performance. She had managed to hit most of the right notes in the right order and was, perhaps fortunately, unaware of her audience’s fidgeting or their relief when she finally laid her hands in her lap, rose from the stool and bobbed a little curtsey before retreating, well satisfied with her performance, to her parent’s side. Listening to her daughter playing scales was not a pleasant experience but Mrs Porter did not expect it to be; it was only after some considerable time had passed in this way that she showed impatience.

  “My daughter cannot play scales all the time,” she said. “She must learn to play a tune. I hope you do not spend the whole of your lesson in this manner; surely it is something she can practise on her own.”

  “Certainly, Madam. You are, of course, quite right, but I always find starting with scales beneficial to my students. It loosens up the fingers and the wrists so that it is easier, afterwards, to do justice to a composition.”

  “How long are your lessons?”

  “An hour was what we agreed, Madam.”

  “Just so; and Miss Porter must have spent nearly an hour already on that one exercise. Pray start her on something else. Have you a suitable piece which you think she might be able to perform?”

  “Indeed, yes. We have been practising one of Clementi’s sonatas.”

  Signor Pontielli rose and shuffled amongst the sheets of music piled on top of the pianoforte. When he found what he was looking for, he spread it out on the music stand, sat down again and commanded his pupil to begin.

  Susan did so, leaning forward with a frown upon her face to read the notes. It was the piece she had played for the first time the day before but had not practised since. Her ability to sight-read was once again demonstrated as she ploughed through with surprising accuracy as to notes, if very little as to timing.

  The teacher allowed her to play the entire work – which was, mercifully, brief - before he spoke. “That was well done,” he said with only the faintest suspicion of irony in his tone. “You have managed to play it with great precision. Now I think we need to concentrate on a few bars at a time in order to improve the phrasing.”

  Susan did not reply.

  Her mother said, “That is not at all bad, dear child. Should she, do you think, Signor, practise the whole several times a day as well as running through her scales?”

  “No, not at present. I should like to help Miss Porter to understand the best method of performing the sonata. Playing the correct notes is only a small portion of the whole. Now, Miss Porter, let us begin again at the beginning and I will stop you when I think your execution needs adjustment. It is a piece …”

  But whatever he had been about to say was cut short by Mrs Porter, who, having spent what seemed like most of the morning sitting on a hard chair at the back of the room, first watching her daughter treading on Monsieur Lapideau’s toes and then listening to her striking the keys of the pianoforte, had come to the end of her endurance.

  She rose, saying, “I can see you are working hard but I should think that is enough for the time being. Come along, my dear, it is surely time for nuncheon – I declare I am positively famished!”

  Susan and her teacher both stood up.

  She said, “Thank you for the lesson, Signor.”

  “It was a pleasure, Signorina,” he replied gravely, bowing.

  “I think your playing is coming along very well,” Mrs Porter told her daughter as they made their way to the small dining room where a light nuncheon was awaiting them.

  “I can find the notes,” Susan admitted, adding, in case her mother should think the music master unnecessary, “but I am afraid I am not very good at interpreting it. I hope that Signor Pontielli will be able to help me with that.”

  “I expect he will try, my dear. You must practise more; I am persuaded that will help.”

  “Yes, Mama, but I believe I should wait until he has instructed me in how to play the piece before I embark upon practice other than scales; I am afraid that, if he has not shown me the correct phrasing, as he calls it, I shall only become fixed in the wrong method.”

  “Yes, I daresay you are right. I am not quite so sanguine about your dancing though, my dear. That, to my mind, requires a deal of practice.”

  “Yes, but I cannot do that on my own, Mama.”

  “No, but it does not seem to me that your teacher’s method of instruction is as effective as it might be. I wonder, for example, why he has chosen to teach you the cotillion at this stage. It is an excessively complicated dance and I had the distinct impression that you did not understand what you were meant to be doing most of the time.”

  “No, I own I did not. But, if he shows me his plans, I daresay I shall understand a little better. I believe I shall be more able to remember what I am supposed to be doing if I can read exact directions; in that way I may be able to practise a little by myself.”

  “I always thought you should have been a boy,” her mother observed, apparently inconsequentially. “You take after your father in a number of ways.” It did not sound as though Mrs Porter was altogether pleased about this.

  By this time they had reached the small dining room where they found their host reading the newspaper. He had not begun to eat and Mrs Porter apologised for keeping him waiting.

  “Not at all. We do not need to stand on ceremony when it comes to taking a nuncheon. If I have not already begun, it is because I spent the morning eating cake with my neighbour, Lady Leland, and have ruined my appetite.”

  “Was that the old Dowager Lady Leland or her daughter-in-law?” Mrs Porter asked, showing a desire for exactitude which was not altogether different from her daughter’s need for precise information on the order and timing of dance steps.

  “The old one. She lives with a companion in the Dower House. It was the companion whom I rescued from the river yesterday and I went to pay my respects and enquire after her health. Fortunately, she did not appear to have suffered any ill effects from her immersion. I have invited them to dinner next week.”

  “I suppose the companion is pretty,” Mrs Porter hazarded.

  His lordship grinned at her. “Clearly I cannot pull the wool over your eyes, Jenny. Yes, I own that she is – exceedingly.”

  Mrs Porter helped herself to another slice of ham which his lordship had been engaged in carving while he spoke.

  “I thought,” he pursued, turning his attention to a capon without looking at either of his guests, “that it would be an opportunity for you to meet the young woman and decide whether you would be happy for me to commence swimming lessons with her and Susan.”

  “An excellent notion,” Jenny agreed heartily. “Shall we be just the five of us at dinner? All females except for you, Marklye?”
/>   “No, for that would make it impossible to dance – something I think everyone enjoys after dinner - so I have it in mind to invite the Armitages, who are near neighbours, and whichever of their sons are currently residing with them – they have two. I have even, with Lady Leland’s help, thought of a fifth gentleman to round off the numbers neatly: Sir Adrian Turnbull, whose estate lies not far distant. I have decided to ride over this afternoon; perhaps you would like to accompany me?”

  “I?” Mrs Porter asked, surprised.

  “Both of you - if you would like the exercise.”

  “I should like it very much,” Susan said at once. She was afraid that her mother would decline for them both before she had had a chance to open her mouth.

  “Good. As soon as we have finished I will set about choosing mounts for you.”

  “I hope you will not find anything too lively for me,” Jenny said. “I have never been over-fond of riding.”

  Lord Marklye smiled. “We will not ride hell for leather, I promise, but, if you would prefer to sit quietly by the lake in the sunshine, I shall not force you into the saddle.”

  “I own ..,” Jenny began but stopped when her daughter touched her arm. She looked down into a pair of beseeching eyes and, unusually, took pity on her child. Susan did like riding, just as her father did, and Jenny knew that the girl would hesitate to go without her over strange terrain in the sole company of Lord Marklye, whom she had known all her life as her papa’s friend but with whom she was not herself intimate.

  “No, I must not be indolent,” Mrs Porter said firmly. “We would enjoy a ride, would we not, Susan?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Susan said in a dutiful voice but her eyes were shining.

  By the time they had finished eating and changed into their habits, the afternoon was well advanced. Lord Marklye, who had already spoken to his head groom and chosen suitable mounts for his companions, was awaiting them in the hall when they descended the stairs.

  “I hope we have not kept you waiting,” Mrs Porter said as he rose.

  “Not in the least. I have been here less than a minute.”

  He waved a letter in front of his guest, saying, “I have been writing an invitation to Sir Adrian so that, if he is from home, I shall be able to leave it for his return. I have sent Manning with a similar one to the Armitage household.”

  When they went out they found the groom and a stable boy holding three horses. Once they were all safely in their saddles, his lordship led the way down the drive.

  They proceeded in a leisurely fashion almost as far as the gates but, before reaching them, Marklye opened a gate in the hedge and set off across a field.

  “This is a short cut,” he explained. “We could go by the road all the way but it is several miles. If we cross the fields we can be there not only more quickly but also, I think, more enjoyably. Shall we trot?” he asked Mrs Porter.

  “Yes, of course,” she said and all three urged their mounts to increase their pace.

  Susan was longing for a gallop but knew that her mama would not like to go so fast.

  “I can see that you both wish to go at a greater speed than I,” Jenny said after a little while. “I do not want to hold you back; pray go on ahead if you like.”

  “But you will not know the way if we do that,” Susan said.

  “We can wait at the end of each field,” Marklye suggested. “Come along, Susan, would you like a gallop?”

  “Oh, yes, I would indeed,” she said, her face brightening. “But are you certain you do not mind, Mama, if we leave you for a little?”

  “Not in the least and I own to feeling a trifle suffocated by your impatience, dear child. Go along and I will catch you up at the end of the field.”

  “We will wait by the gate there,” his lordship said, pointing ahead.

  In a moment he and Susan had shot off into the distance, the horses’ tails flying behind them; Jenny Porter, who found trotting exhausting, slowed to a walk.

  This, Susan thought, with the wind in her face and the sun beating down upon her shoulders, was a great deal more to her taste than either dancing or playing the pianoforte, even with Signor Pontielli hovering over her.

  It was more than an hour later that the party arrived at Sir Adrian Turnbull’s gates. For the last few miles, Marklye had led them back to the road for, he pointed out, it would not be good manners to arrive at a man’s front door having galloped across his fields. It behoved them to arrive in the proper manner at the proper place.

  In fact, as they were trotting soberly up the drive, they were overtaken by a rider, who immediately slowed to their pace, removed his hat and bowed.

  “Are you coming to call on me?” he asked. “I’m so glad I decided to leave my steward when I did for, if I had not, you would have found me from home and no doubt have gone away again without my having been able to say how do you do. Are these your guests, Marklye?”

  “Indeed they are. Mrs and Miss Porter, this is Sir Adrian himself. Mr Porter was unfortunately obliged to return to London yesterday.”

  “That is a pity,” Sir Adrian said, “but I am very glad you and your daughter decided not to go with him, Mrs Porter. Will you come in for some refreshment – or we can sit in the garden, if you prefer? My groom can see to the horses while we drink some lemonade.”

  The invitation accepted, the party continued up the drive until they reached a romantic-looking house, probably built some two or three hundred years earlier. It was long and low, running to only two storeys, and was at this time of year covered in climbing roses which wound their way up the walls to tap upon the upstairs windows. Susan thought that, if you slept in one of the bedrooms at the front, you would be lulled to sleep every night by their scent.

  Sir Adrian resembled his house not at all save in that both had an informal, slightly untidy air. There the likeness ceased for the man was tall and long-limbed and just now mounted upon an enormous horse, which towered over even Lord Marklye’s chestnut. He looked considerably younger than his lordship but was probably not much shy of thirty. He had a boyishly fresh complexion, light brown hair worn shorter than was usual and pale blue eyes. He was one of those men in whom everything seems to be magnified so that his face was large, his nose substantial and, when he smiled, it could be seen that his teeth were perfectly in proportion. Tall men are generally admired more than short ones but those as large as Sir Adrian fall outside the natural boundaries the eye expects and he seemed, as a consequence, at first glance to be less handsome than perhaps he was.

  The party proceeded up the drive at a walk, a speed at which prowess on horseback is hard to judge; nevertheless it was not lost on Susan that his seat upon the animal was easy and that horse and rider moved as one. She, mounted on an unfamiliar animal, had already, in the short time she had been riding the grey mare provided by her host, forged a bond with it and felt the happier for it. She did not always find people easy: if she held her tongue they concluded she was sullen; if she did not, they judged her loud. On her feet she was often clumsy and unfeminine, conscious not only of her size but also of her tendency to ‘take great strides’; but on horseback she was seen to great advantage. It was rare for her mother to accompany her for she was not a keen horsewoman, and it may have been on account of this that Susan excelled in the saddle. In any event, she sat a horse with noticeable grace.

  Chapter 14

  The invitation to dinner having been extended and accepted, Sir Adrian conducted his guests to a corner of the garden where a table and chairs were set up in the shade of a group of trees. The promised lemonade was only one of a number of drinks the butler presently served, along with cakes and macaroons. Susan, hungry after the ride, ate several of each before she encountered her mother’s disapproving eye and declined another.

  Sir Adrian refilled her glass which Susan, thirsty after the energetic gallop in the hot sun, drank rapidly before once again becoming conscious of the censorious eye, this time accompanied by a heavy sigh. She flushed a
nd, rendered both self-conscious and ashamed, misjudged the distance between her hand and the table, setting the glass down so that it toppled off and smashed upon the ground.

  “Oh, I am so sorry!” she exclaimed, tears starting to her eyes.

  “It is not of the least consequence,” Sir Adrian told her kindly. He rang a small hand bell which had been laid on the table along with the refreshments.

  When the butler appeared in answer to the summons, he said, “Miss Porter requires another glass and we have need of someone to clear up the broken pieces.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Susan said, “Oh, I shall not need another glass; I have drunk quite sufficient, thank you.”

  “Have you? It is a very hot day and you must have grown exceedingly thirsty during your long ride. In any event, even if you do not feel the need for another drink at present, you may do so later. Bell, please bring another glass and it may be as well to fill up the jug while you are about it.”

  When Bell returned he was accompanied by a maidservant with a dustpan and brush. Susan jumped up, pushing her chair back with a scrape upon the flagstones.

  “Susan ..,” Mrs Porter murmured, quite low but with such an inflection of despair as to cause her daughter’s spirits to sink, if it were possible, even lower.

  “I am sorry, Mama, but I do not see how she can sweep up the broken glass if I remain there. I do not know where to put my feet so that they are out of the way unless I move.”

  “No,” Mrs Porter agreed, heavily. Once again, there was a wealth of meaning behind the simple utterance which no one could mistake and which drew unwelcome attention to the size of the girl’s feet, something which might otherwise have been overlooked.

  Sir Adrian rose at once and lifted Susan’s chair out of the way; it was still wobbling slightly as a result of the exuberance with which it had been pushed back. Susan stood a little way off wringing her hands, her face hot and uncomfortable.