Louisa Elliott

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  ‘Not at all – I should think our new governess deserves it!’ she laughed, pressing Louisa’s arm. ‘How very rude that young woman was!’

  ‘Who on earth,’ Robert asked, ‘is Mrs Delaney-Jones?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. She simply sprang to mind. Quite inspired, though, don’t you think? And their faces were perfect pictures! All their questions answered, and so ambiguously — the conjecture will go on for days!’

  Louisa giggled, then laughed. She laughed, on and off, all the way to the Station Hotel.

  When Edward arrived home late on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, his heart leapt at the sound of Louisa’s voice; then memory mocked, and he was left with a familiar, aching void.

  His hopes that the affair might fizzle out had been vain indeed; not only had she come to terms with the loss of her financial independence, Louisa seemed to be revelling in the situation, taking cookery lessons from her mother, even discussing recipes and fashions in the latest women’s journals, which was something she had never done. It had become a feature of the week. With a sigh he placed his parcels on the hall table, and picked up the evening paper.

  The plainly-wrapped parcels were his Christmas presents for the family: a desk diary for his aunt, with the name of the hotel engraved on the cover; a large box of her favourite chocolates for Bessie, and good leather gloves for Emily and Blanche. Louisa had admired Emily’s wedding present, a leather-bound album for photographs; racking his brains to think of a suitable Christmas gift for her, he had finally decided that nothing else would do. It was impossible to match anything Robert Duncannon might give her, but he thought she might appreciate the hours of loving workmanship which had gone into the album. Its soft Morocco was the finest, each mount engraved with a delicate motif, the heavy pages edged with gold; to him it was a symbol, a most important one, that he still cared. He hoped she would understand.

  Sniffing appreciatively at the soup simmering on the hob, he announced to Bessie that it was cold enough for snow, smiled at her ungracious reply, and went through into the parlour. All the guests were gone, returned to their families for a couple of days at least, and his aunt was relaxing in her favourite chair, feet propped on a small stool in front of the fire. Someone, perhaps Louisa, had decorated a tiny Christmas tree, and coloured candles on the mantelpiece lit the gathering gloom of a bitter winter’s evening.

  ‘Something smells good in the kitchen. Are you eating with us, Louisa?’

  ‘Not this evening — I’m on my way out. But I’ll be here tomorrow for Christmas dinner.’

  ‘Blanche is coming,’ his aunt said, stifling a small yawn. ‘But Emily’s going to the Chapmans’. It’ll seem strange without her.’ With an effort, she pulled herself upright. ‘Goodness me, I’m tired, and there’s still plenty to do. Edward, you can’t possibly see to read in this light. You’ll strain your eyes.’

  As he adjusted the lamps, Louisa left the room, returning a few moments later with her hat and cloak. ‘Goodness, it’s cold out there! I think you’re right, Edward, we will have snow before morning. Won’t that be lovely? A white Christmas!’

  Smiling, she turned to the mirror, hat and pins in hand, her eyes taken with the problem of the silly little bonnet, no more than a froth of ribbons and veiling, which on her short curls had little to cling to. As she stood there, arms raised, Edward looked up and saw with a sudden catch of his breath how very beautiful she had become. Her face, reflected in the glass, had lost those anxious shadows; her eyes and skin, warmed by the fireglow, were soft and lustrous. His glance, travelling down, took in the rich dark-blue velvet of her gown, high-necked and long-sleeved, yet perfectly cut to reveal every contour of a perfect, hour-glass figure. There was a new voluptuousness about her, as though in its very softness her body was reaching out and begging to be touched.

  He was disconcerted by his body’s sudden response; and antagonized, as though she had flaunted herself deliberately.

  Having settled the hat to her satisfaction, Louisa turned to him with a coquettish smile. ‘How’s that?’ she asked, as she had often done in the past. ‘Will I do?’

  ‘Of course,’ he muttered gruffly, and picked up the newspaper.

  As she brushed by he caught the scent of something heavier than the lavender he associated with her. He saw his aunt’s silent response to some questioning glance of Louisa’s and was suddenly furious with them both. He turned his eyes to the day’s news, but it was ridiculously hard to concentrate.

  ‘Is that clock right, Mamma?’

  ‘It’s as close to the Minster bells as I can make it,’ Edward tersely replied.

  ‘He’s late then. It’s not like him – he’s usually so punctual.’ She went over to the window, peering out between shrouds of lace.

  ‘What on earth are you so anxious about?’

  ‘We’re invited out with Robert’s sister. I don’t suppose she’ll mind if we’re a couple of minutes late, but he’s got tickets for the theatre. The show starts at half-past seven.’

  ‘The theatre? Are you mad?’ he demanded. ‘I don’t know why you don’t advertise your — your liaison — in the Press!’

  Stung, Louisa glared at him. ‘Robert’s sister will be with us.’

  For a long moment, he glared back. ‘You think that will make a difference?’

  The sound of a carriage drawing up outside broke the tension. Louisa flew to the window, almost upsetting the little Christmas tree. ‘Where’s my mantle? Oh, here it is – thank you, Mamma,’ she whispered breathlessly as her mother arranged it around her shoulders. She was halfway to the door as Bessie showed Robert in.

  A gust of cold air came with him, and a sense of excitement. Through narrowed eyes Edward noted the elegant evening clothes, the proprietorial hand on her arm, his aunt’s involuntary brightening. Then there was a kiss for her, a prettily-wrapped gift and a small posy of Christmas roses for Bessie. With apologies for not being able to see them all on Christmas Day, Robert Duncannon shook Edward’s hand heartily and, on a flood of seasonal best wishes, ushered Louisa to the door.

  ‘Your umbrella!’ Bessie called after them. ‘Don’t forget your umbrella. It’ll be snowing tonight, most like...’ And Louisa dashed back, kissing Bessie and her mother before the door closed finally behind them, leaving a strange and empty silence in their wake.

  Eleven

  In the darkness of the carriage, Robert kissed her lingeringly. ‘Sorry I was late,’ he whispered. ‘I was held up in the Mess – they’re celebrating already. Forgive me?’

  ‘I might,’ Louisa teased, ‘if you kiss me again.’

  ‘Mmm,’ he breathed against her lips, ‘that’s a terrible penance.’ Beneath her mantle, his hand slipped down from shoulder to breast. ‘You look lovely in that gown – so lovely, I can’t wait to see you take it off...’

  Giggling, Louisa pushed his hand away. ‘Stop that this minute!’

  ‘Yes,’ he laughed, ‘I think I’d better.’ Leaning back, he began to search his pockets, finally producing a small, square box. ‘I have your Christmas present — a little early, but I thought perhaps you’d like to wear it. That blue velvet should set it off perfectly. Here.’ He opened the box, and in the darkness something glittered.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Louisa took out a small brooch, a star of sapphires and diamonds. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Robert, you shouldn’t–’

  ‘Don’t say it!’ he warned. ‘Don’t say I shouldn’t have, or that you can’t possibly accept it, or I’ll be angry. It’s more than just a Christmas present,’ he went on hurriedly, before she could interrupt. ‘I want you to think of it as a little insurance policy.’

  ‘Insurance?’ she repeated, puzzled by both words and tone, which were incongruously businesslike.

  ‘Yes, an insurance policy. After all, my love, none of us knows what the future holds.’ He stopped suddenly, pulled her close into the crook of his arm, and kissed her forehead. In a much gentler tone, he added: ‘It’s a little “just in case,”
don’t you see? There may come a time when you need money quickly, and if so, then this should raise a fair amount. Enough to cover immediate necessities, at least.’

  Rescuing the brooch from her suddenly nerveless fingers, he pinned it to the velvet of her gown. ‘There, it looks beautiful, and I want you to enjoy wearing it. Don’t look so sad,’ he whispered as he kissed her again, ‘it’s Christmas and I love you.’

  Chilled, she clung to him. ‘Oh, Robert, I love you too,’ she murmured, wishing all the while that it had not been necessary for him to say what had just been said.

  Letty’s eyes as she admired it were almost as bright as the brooch itself. Louisa summoned a smile and tried to forget that cold chill of presentiment. Awareness, with her, was never far from the surface, although Robert rarely spoke of the future, and never of a time when they might not be together. That he should have done so now, their first Christmas together, cast a long shadow.

  The play, a light farce with a seasonal flavour, was sufficiently amusing to lift her out of the blue mood which had threatened earlier, and the first flakes of snow, falling onto frosty pavements as they left the theatre, banished it completely. Like two enchanted children, Letty and Louisa exclaimed over it, congratulating themselves and Robert on the delight of snow for Christmas, as though it had been specially ordered.

  Over dinner in Letty’s suite, Robert gazed at his two ladies with fond, indulgent eyes, charmed by their laughter and the ease with which they responded to each other. Knowing well the unpredictability of women, he had hardly dared hope they would get on; that they did, and with such genuine lack of constraint, amazed and delighted him. He knew he could not have wished for a more pleasing Christmas gift, although, as he fingered the cufflinks Louisa had given him, he was again quite extraordinarily touched.

  With the coffee he begged to be excused, making the attraction of an excellent billiard room his reason for leaving them to talk.

  Letty smiled as he closed the door. ‘Old habits die hard,’ she commented and, from a silver case, casually offered Louisa a cigarette. Her round-eyed amazement made Letty laugh.

  ‘Robert doesn’t approve either,’ she confessed. ‘But as I keep trying to tell him – it’s preferable to drinking oneself to death!’ Suddenly serious, she poured two cups of coffee, handing one across the table. ‘I thought that’s what he was doing, you know. A year ago, he was never without a glass in his hand – at home, at least. I can hardly believe the difference in him now. I can’t thank you enough.’

  Stirring cream into her cup, Louisa glanced up in surprise. ‘Me?’

  With a little laugh, Letty nodded. ‘Of course. There hasn’t been anyone else.’

  Louisa denied that she had had anything to do with Robert’s drinking habits; privately, she thought he still drank far more than was good for him, but in the Mess she supposed they all did. Nevertheless, Letty’s assumption that the improvement was due to her was pleasing.

  ‘May I ask you a personal question?’ As Louisa nodded, the other woman went on: ‘How do you feel about living in Ireland? Robert’s almost certain the regiment will be in Dublin by the summer — so certain, in fact, he’s having the Devereux house completely refurbished. Not before time, I hasten to add! We’ve been trying to persuade him to do something about it for years. However,’ she hesitated a moment, ‘I wonder how you feel about it?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine — a little nervous, I confess.’ She was, in fact, extremely daunted by the prospect. After a moment, she added: ‘I do know he lived there with Charlotte.’

  ‘Ah, I was wondering about that, too.’

  Hesitantly, Louisa asked: ‘Do you disapprove?’

  ‘Oh, goodness me, no!’ Coming to sit beside her on the sofa, Letty pressed Louisa’s hand. ‘But I am worried,’ she confessed, and with a heavy sigh, added: ‘Dublin isn’t London, you know. Robert has the idea he can install you in the Devereux house, then walk out with you on his arm, and people won’t turn a hair. The Prince of Wales might get away with it – and many of his friends — but Robert’s not of that circle, and never will be.

  ‘If you were a married woman, or a widow, it could perhaps be brazened out, but a young woman, unmarried...’ As her voice tailed away, she shook her head. ‘It won’t work, not the way he envisages it. Believe me, I do know.’

  Watching those soft grey eyes, Louisa felt she did know, and wondered what sadnesses had shaped this woman’s life, what comforts sustained her now.

  Catching that unguarded, quizzical glance, Letty gave a rueful smile. ‘Oh, yes, there was someone — a long time ago. Years older than me, and married, of course. His wife caught scent of it and whipped him back to Dublin. He’s a Member of Parliament now, fighting on Gladstone’s side for Home Rule.’ Soft laughter, edged with self-mockery, made a joke of it. ‘You see, I follow his career with interest!’

  ‘Do you ever see him?’

  ‘Not in fifteen years, nor do I want to. I suffered for him once, I’d not do it again.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘His wife’s still going strong, I’m afraid, and will no doubt outlive us all!’

  The irreverent humour was infectious. Louisa was glad of the warmth between them, the friendship which had sprung so unexpectedly. Suddenly, a dampening thought curtailed her amusement.

  ‘And Charlotte?’ she murmured. ‘What can you tell me about her, Letty? Will she outlive us all, do you think?’

  The rueful laughter faded. ‘Had I Bridget’s faith,’ Letty admitted, ‘I’d probably make the sign of the cross and mutter several fervent prayers. But as I don’t have much faith in anything, any more, what can I say? I wish I could give you hope – but on that score, sadly, there is none to give. Short of Charlotte taking her own life,’ she said heavily, ‘and it cannot be discounted, she could live for years. A normal lifespan.

  ‘If there was any justice in this world,’ Letty commented bitterly, ‘she’d die tomorrow and release us all from this ghastly merry-go-round.’

  For a moment there was silence between them. ‘It must be terrible,’ Louisa murmured at last, ‘having to live in the same house.’

  ‘It is. Robert doesn’t understand the strain. He thinks he’s being kind to her, while I worry about Georgina. When I think of what happened a year ago —’ Breaking off, she sighed. ‘But I mustn’t heap those worries on your shoulders, my dear. Robert will never forgive me.’

  Her sudden smile was warm and very bright, like sunshine after rain; pouring more coffee for them both, she said: ‘At least, now it’s possible to talk to Robert, we may get some sense on the subject before long!’

  Before Louisa could ask what she meant, one of the interior doors opened, and Georgina wandered in, blinking sleepily in the room’s bright light. Although she asked for her father, when she saw Louisa she smiled bewitchingly, taking refuge against her knees.

  Laughing, she hitched the little girl onto her lap and squeezed her, waving Letty’s disapproval aside. ‘Your Daddy’s downstairs, but he’ll be back in a minute. If you get into bed, we’ll ask him to come in and say goodnight.’

  ‘Will you come, too?’

  ‘I’ll come now, and tuck you in.’

  In the bedroom, they discussed the matter of Father Christmas and where he would leave her presents; Louisa assured her that Robert had written a note to the bearded gentleman, telling him Georgina was in York, and to leave her presents at the foot of the bed. Happy again, the little girl lifted her face to be kissed.

  ‘But you won’t forget to tell him, will you?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Tell him to come in and give me a kiss.’

  Louisa smiled. ‘I won’t forget — promise.’

  In the sitting room, Letty was pouring two glasses of sherry and looking very smug. ‘Good health, Louisa, and Merry Christmas! I think I have the problem solved.’

  ‘What problem’s that?’

  ‘Yourself and Robert – the Devereux house! If the regiment can come to Dublin,
then so can we. Georgina and I, that is. It would be the best thing for her, getting away from White Leigh. And the most natural: she should see more of her father.’

  ‘I’m sure she should,’ Louisa agreed, ‘but I don’t quite follow.’

  Gaily, Letty laughed. ‘But it’s so obvious, don’t you see? You are a governess, are you not? So why don’t we offer you a job, my dear, one you are quite well-qualified to perform. After all,’ she added mischievously, ‘I understand you have most excellent references. Didn’t I myself tell Miss Bainbridge so?’

  Twelve

  As a concession to Christmas, Mary Elliott brought out a bottle of her best elderflower wine. While Bessie supervised in the kitchen, she cast a critical eye over the dining table before sitting down to take a glass of the pale, golden liquid, pronouncing it excellent, which it was. Had anyone described the wine as alcoholic, she would have been mortally offended; nevertheless, it was extremely heady, and after only one glass Blanche began to thaw visibly. After two, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, she became positively friendly towards her sister, gossiping in her usual malicious but amusing way about Miss Devine and some of her more noted clients.

  She was an excellent mimic, but even while she laughed, Louisa found herself recalling occasions in childhood, when burning indignation had produced devastating impressions of their mother or Bessie. As her laughter died, she wondered how well and how often she herself had been impersonated, especially to Emily, who was spending Christmas day with the Chapmans. Since the wedding, Blanche had taken to visiting Emily from time to time, which was odd, Louisa thought. But recently she had begun to suspect her sisters of indulging themselves at her expense, their respective primness no doubt titillated by salacious speculation.

  When she thought of Letty Duncannon, with her blithe acceptance of the situation, her spirits lifted; but, like Robert, Letty seemed to have grasped the fashionable nettle of unbelief, whereas her sisters still paid their respects in church every Sunday, as they had been taught to do since childhood.