Mary Or The Perils 0f Imprudence

by Catherine Bowness

  “I do not care about fine dresses or rich food,” she protested, forgetting, or not perhaps realising, how much well-bred horses cost, both to buy and to keep, or how much coal was required to heat a large house.

  He smiled at her with a sort of sad tenderness that made her heart turn over in her breast.

  “My darling,” he said, “I will give you everything in my power; unfortunately that is not a great deal; even if I can obtain a position as a musician somewhere, most likely in Europe, the stipend would be paltry.”

  “But I would be so proud of you,” she cried. “Just think! You – we – might be poor but you will be doing what you love and people will pay to listen to you play. I am certain Papa will wish to encourage you when he knows how very much I love you.”

  “I should think, on the contrary, that he will want to horsewhip me,” he contradicted. “When do you expect him to return?”

  “In a day or two. He promised that he would not be away for long so I expect he will be back soon. I will speak to him as soon as he arrives for he will be so pleased to see me that I expect he will be willing to agree to anything that will make me happy.”

  “No, pray do not speak just yet. Let me think of a plan.”

  “Perhaps we should run away together,” she suggested. “He is bound to agree then, although I own I would prefer to be married with his blessing.”

  “Would you do that for me? Elope?”

  “Yes, of course, if you think that is best.”

  Several hours later the two women in the Dower House were ready to receive their guests. Both were dressed smartly: her ladyship had, Mary guessed, decided to play the part of the intimidating dowager. She wore a purple gown, embellished with quantities of black lace, and concealed almost the entire expanse of her bosom with a vast necklace composed of gold encrusted amethysts which winked and sparkled in the candlelight. Her hair, still not quite white but a rather noble iron grey, was dressed high but plainly. She despised caps, complaining that they were hot as well as ridiculous and never wore one. Now that she was well into her eightieth decade, she frequently remarked that she had no pretensions to beauty but, while she lacked the glowing complexion and shining hair of a young woman, her looks had not entirely vanished. They could still be discerned in the soft, pale skin, stretched tightly over the fine bones of a face that had once been considered incomparable, in the firm, well-cut lips and clear, intelligent gaze.

  Her companion, decked out in one of the gowns they had chosen together in Tunbridge Wells, was dazzling in periwinkle blue, a single strand of pearls around her neck and a tragic expression on her drooping mouth.

  “Lud – how very bright you are, my dear!” her ladyship exclaimed, holding her hand in front of her eyes. “I declare your hair puts my necklace in the shade!”

  “Too much?” Mary asked. “Should I revert to grey after all?”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so - although the combination of periwinkle and gold is certainly dramatic. But then that is the effect we wanted to achieve, is it not?”

  “Not we, my lady: you. I never wished to draw attention to myself.”

  “Wishes do not come into it; you dazzle whether you will or no. I should not suppose any of those gentlemen we have honoured with an invitation will be able to concentrate upon their cards tonight.”

  “You must have sparkled in a similar fashion when you were young,” Mary observed, greatly daring.

  “Oh, yes, I did and I loved every minute of being a Beauty. But, you know, I am not at all sure that you are not vastly superior to me when I was your age. Of course, by the time I was five and twenty, I had been married for near seven years and had three children – that cannot help but have a dimming effect. Your sister was always accounted the Beauty in your family but her colouring was not near so dramatic – more ethereal.”

  “I daresay it still is,” Mary said. “The delicacy of her colouring is much admired. She was used to - and probably still does - look like a fairy princess and always managed, largely by dint of such an appearance, to behave like a hoyden with impunity. I, on the other hand, was constantly in trouble because the vulgarity of my colouring made me look like a spitfire.” As she said the word, Mary was horridly reminded of Mr Armitage accusing her of just such a character flaw as he manhandled her.

  “But you are – or were. The trouble with you in your girlhood was that you were not only imprudent but also, more often than not, in a pet. You have become too careful, apart from that tumble into the river, and it is high time you let rip. I own I am impatient to see what your admirers make of you now that you have been polished up, so to speak.”

  Chapter 26

  By the time Susan was able to tear herself away from Signor Pontielli the afternoon was well advanced. When she reached the house, her mind full of her Vincente, and slipped inside through a side door, believing herself unobserved, she almost jumped when she noticed the scornful maid hanging around in the small back hall.

  “Ah, there you are, Miss! I had begun to think of sending a search party to look for you.”

  Susan flushed; the maid was a great deal too observant and Susan was aware that her hair was untidy and her lips swollen from a surfeit of kisses.

  “I was only in the garden,” she said sharply.

  “I looked there on your mama’s orders,” the maid replied with what seemed to Susan to be a knowing look, one which dwelled first upon the tumbled hair and then moved with agonising slowness to fix upon the trembling mouth.

  “Did Mama say what she wanted?” Susan asked in a distant voice. “You can tell her if you like that I am returned from my walk.”

  “Yes, Miss; I think she merely wondered what had become of you since nuncheon. Would you like me to rearrange your hair before I speak to her?” The maid’s eyes now held a warning look which made Susan flush uncomfortably but she nodded and, turning away, began to mount the stairs.

  When she saw herself in the mirror, she was glad that she had heeded the warning in spite of her hostility towards the maid.

  “Dear me,” she said lightly. “I do look a mess. I have been walking too fast in the heat, I suppose.”

  “You should be careful, Miss,” the maid said, beginning to remove the few hairpins that still remained when Susan had taken off her bonnet.

  “Of what? Walking too fast?”

  “Meeting men in the bushes,” Meg said bluntly.

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Susan asked, shocked and hoping that her immediate fear that she had been spied upon would be interpreted as outrage at being accused of such improper conduct.

  “He is very handsome,” the maid said, beginning to brush her mistress’s hair. “But he is a lot older than you and your parents would not approve.”

  Susan turned so suddenly that the brush slipped in the maid’s hand and hit her chin.

  “Have you been spying on me?” she asked, now so red that even her bosom burned with her embarrassment.

  “No, Miss, but I can see which way the wind is blowing and I should not like anything bad to happen to you.”

  “Should you not? What could happen to me?” she added, reluctant to deny something which she knew the maid had either seen or imagined.

  “You could lose your reputation, Miss, and be ruined. You should not meet him alone.”

  “Why do you care?” Susan asked, tears starting to her eyes.

  “Because I’m a woman and I know what men like that get up to and I don’t think it’s fair for him to take advantage of a girl like you who doesn’t know which way is up.”

  “He – he has asked me to marry him.”

  “Hmn,” the maid said. “And I suppose you think your Papa will consent.”

  “I don’t think he’ll like it,” Susan admitted. “But I daresay he will agree in the end.”

  “You mean when you’ve been seduced and there’s a child on the way, when he’ll want you to marry anyone, even one such as that music teacher, rather than no one? Oh,
you think now that love will make all right, that your parents want you to be happy, that it’ll all work out! It won’t, Miss; believe me, there’s many a girl been seduced by such a man and it never comes to any good in the end.”

  “He hasn’t seduced me – he’s very respectful; he says he wants me to be sure before I make a commitment to him; he has himself pointed out that we will be poor. I don’t care in any event! I love him!”

  “You think you do now but it won’t last when you’re living in a mean little house with no money and too many children - and when you’re quite cut off from the sort of people you’ve been brought up with.”

  “Why are you telling me this? I thought you despised me.”

  “I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try to save you,” the maid said, tears starting to her eyes. “If you can’t see sense, I shall tell your mama what you’ve been doing.”

  “You wouldn’t! Oh, pray do not do that! It would ruin all!”

  “You will be ruined if you don’t take heed,” the maid responded. “You’re very young, Miss, and you’ve probably never been in love before. He’s a bad man to take advantage of you like that but you’ll get over it and find a nice man one day. Hold still, while I bind up your hair; that wood must be full of your hairpins for you’ve hardly any left.”

  “Then pray fetch some more from Mama’s room. I don’t want to go to the horrid party this evening,” Susan said, bursting into noisy sobs. “And I don’t want to hear another word from you on this subject. It’s none of your business.”

  “No, Miss.”

  The maid set about inserting the last of the hairpins on Susan’s dressing table and neither spoke for some time although Susan sobbed and sniffed, her shoulders shaking so much that the maid’s task was made a great deal more difficult.

  “There!” she said at last. “Look at yourself in the mirror, Miss. You look lovely, although it would be better if you stopped crying. Wash your face while I fetch your mama; she will want to have the choosing of what you wear tonight.”

  By the time they arrived at Lady Leland’s house the rest of the guests were already assembled.

  Sir James and Lady Armitage had not found it difficult to persuade either of their sons to accompany them, the younger being more than a little smitten with Miss Best and the elder, when he discovered her change in fortune, eager to make amends and remind her of his irresistible attractions.

  Sir Adrian Turner was also in the room. He was not speaking to Miss Best, whom, after his initial greeting, he was unable to approach on account of Mr Armitage having elbowed him out of the way, but his eyes were fixed upon her countenance. Sir Adrian, being an outdoors sort of man happier in the saddle than the drawing room, was soberly and correctly attired for an evening of card-playing at a neighbour’s house but, not himself being fashionable, had little appreciation of ladies’ clothes. He had admired Miss Best for a long time, barely noticing the dull clothes which she had worn as a humble companion; if he perceived a change in her now that she was attired in a fashionably-cut periwinkle blue gown, it did not augment his appreciation for he was a man who, in spite of his bedazzlement, at bottom cared more for character than appearance.

  When Lord Marklye and his companions were announced, there was an almost palpable stir of interest in the room for he was not only the most noble gentleman present but also the one possessed of the largest fortune. Everyone knew too, although only Sir Adrian had so far made her acquaintance, that the extremely young lady in his party was a not insignificant heiress in her own right.

  The butler having announced them, Mary, in her capacity as joint hostess, went forward to greet them, dropping a pretty little curtsey to his lordship without looking at him before doing the same to Mrs Porter and holding out her hand.

  “I am so glad to meet you at last,” she said. “Let me take you to Lady Leland. This is your daughter, I presume?” she added, turning to offer her hand to the tall young woman.

  “Yes, this is Susan. And you are?” Mrs Porter’s greeting was almost impertinent and no doubt designed to depress Miss Best’s pretensions: she might have expectations now but that did not make her a lady.

  “Her ladyship’s companion: Mary Best.”

  “Ah! I took you for a young relative,” Mrs Porter said heavily.

  “No; only a companion,” Mary replied, smiling with diminished cordiality but increased wariness. She realised that Mrs Porter did not approve of her and wondered if this was because she saw her, all decked out like a lady of fashion, as a rival to her daughter or whether she had a natural antipathy to other women.

  “I have heard about you from his lordship,” Susan said, flushing with shame at her mother’s attempt to belittle the ravishing companion and herself cast into a state of awe by the sophisticated appearance of the other woman.

  “Have you?” Mary asked, turning down the corners of her mouth as she looked up at the girl. “He has been obliged to rescue me several times recently. I believe I should not be here at all had he not done so. I must be grateful to him.”

  “There is no obligation on you to be grateful,” his lordship put in, his voice cold. “When one sees a person about to drown one would have to be a scoundrel not to rescue her.”

  “He asked me if I would like to learn to swim,” Susan said, unaware of the cooling of enthusiasm of the other two towards this project. “Papa said that I may. Will you be able to face the water again, Miss Best? I am sure it would be a good thing to learn for you never know when you may find yourself in a similar situation again.”

  “Would you enjoy it?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, I would. I own that I like doing things out of doors, especially when the weather is fine.”

  “In that case, I shall ask her ladyship again. She was not eager for me to do such a thing the first time we discussed it but only mentioned it again yesterday, saying that she thought after all it might be a good idea. I fear that his lordship may have changed his mind though,” she added a little sadly, not looking at him but conscious of his looming presence beside them.

  “Of course I have not; I offered and the offer stands,” he said gravely, leading Mary to wonder if his other offer still stood as well.

  She bowed her head. “Thank you.”

  Mr Armitage, no doubt dazzled by the sight of two heiresses standing together in a small country village and wondering if the new one, whose fortune was almost certainly larger than Mary’s, might repay attention and might, in addition, be less prickly to approach, appeared beside them so that Mary was forced to introduce Susan to him. Lord Marklye, allowing himself to be displaced, steered Mrs Porter in the direction of their hostess, who was seated and conversing warmly with her friend, Lady Armitage.

  It was not long before the party was invited to embark upon the purpose of the evening – playing cards. Lady Leland had decided that the main game should be loo although, since the maximum number of people who could play at any one time was eight, two would be obliged either to sit out or to play something else: piquet, she suggested.

  “I suppose we will be playing for very small stakes,” Mr Armitage muttered with a scornful look upon his face.

  “We will be playing for counters,” Mary told him repressively. “At the end we will award a prize to the overall winner. There will be no money changing hands – her ladyship does not approve of fortunes being won and lost at cards.”

  “All very well for her,” he muttered. “Has she forgotten that Lord Leland won his fortune at cards and she has been living very comfortably on his winnings ever since? I can only suppose she has never been prepared to run the risk of losing it.”

  “Indeed. I understand he gave up gaming when he married.”

  “If I promise to do the same, will you marry me?” he asked, taking immediate advantage of the raising of the subject.

  Mary was not certain whether he was joking. “No,” she said bluntly, not wishing to engage in repartee with a man who had assaulted her so recently and so h
umiliatingly.

  “But, Mary,” he pleaded, “You must know how fascinating I find you. I am sorry I was o’er-hasty the other day; seeing you walking along the road there, so helpless and so in need of rescue, I intended only to carry you home, but your beauty drove me to act in a manner which I realise you may hold against me. I could not help myself.”

  “Pray do not be ridiculous, Mr Armitage! I am surprised that you dare to mention your actions that day, which were quite beyond the pale. To accuse me of being responsible for them is insulting as well as inaccurate. If you cannot restrain yourself from assaulting a helpless female you should be locked up.”

  “Oh, come, Mary! You know that I did not hurt you – it was merely the enthusiasm of the moment. It has been a long time since I saw you and I know that I can be a trifle hot-headed. I am asking you to marry me – will you?”

  “I have already said ‘no’ and am unlikely to change my mind,” she snapped, turning to move away.

  He caught her hand. “I have been in love with you for years,” he said.

  “No, you have not; in any event, your feelings towards me are entirely irrelevant: I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth. You are a bully and a scoundrel and you are only here tonight because her ladyship is fond of your mama and did not wish to hurt her feelings by refusing to allow you past the door.”

  “Did you tell her ladyship of our kisses the other day?” he asked, disbelieving.

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Ha! Why has she made you her heiress?”

  “So that she can laugh up her sleeve at the fortune hunters who will make their way to the door. You are the first.”

  “Has she made it a condition of your inheritance that you never marry? Is that to be her entertainment – to dress you up and tempt poor, hapless men to fall in love with you? Is she so cruel? And are you willing to go along with this plan for her amusement?”