So, Rosalind thought grimly, another step was being taken towards an intimacy from which no good could come. They seemed to be propelled forward now by the impetus of their initial rash decision. Where would this end?
* * * *
Dinner was a much grander affair than they had ever experienced at the abbey. The gentlemen, it seemed, had a French cook. With their deplorable lack of savoir-vivre, Rosalind and Cassandra scarcely knew what they ate. It was undeniably tasty, though the number of courses seemed excessive and they were forced to leave a considerable amount on their plates. The two men, more accustomed to such lavish fare, had no qualms about consuming the vast quantity of victuals, and Cousin Scilly had an equally healthy appetite.
Afterwards, they retired to the drawing-room. After a few awkward moments in which nobody — even the indefatigable Mrs Plummer — seemed to know what to say, Julian hit upon an idea which created a minor sensation.
‘Mrs Plummer,’ he enquired hopefully, ‘do you play the pianoforte?’
‘Yes indeed,’ the lady replied eagerly. ‘Would you like some music?’
‘We might each take a turn, if you like,’ Rosalind said. At least, she reasoned, that would spare her any tête-à-tête with St George — or rather, Richard.
‘To be frank,’ Julian confessed, ‘I was thinking that you might be persuaded to play for us while we danced.’
For a moment the two girls were both struck silent. Mrs Plummer was not so fortunate.
‘What a splendid idea!’ she almost yodelled in her delight.
‘Do you two gentlemen,’ Rosalind enquired, ‘intend to dance together for our delectation?’
‘Of course not.’ Julian was not amused by the suggestion. ‘I will partner Cassandra, if she will permit, while you and Richard can dance together.’
‘We do not dance.’
Julian’s glance at Rosalind when she made this unprecedented pronouncement was a study in stupefaction. Clearly he had failed to anticipate this.
‘But all young ladies dance!’ he protested, unable to credit something so eccentric.
‘Except our two young ladies,’ St George corrected him, though he did not look at all surprised.
‘We have been reared,’ Rosalind informed them, ‘on very strict Evangelical principles.’
Here was a seemingly insurmountable obstacle to the progress of the gentlemen’s schemes.
‘You feel, perhaps, that Hannah More would not approve?’ he asked Rosalind, referring to the famous English writer and reformer.
‘I am certain that she would find very little in your behavior of which she could approve.’
‘I own,’ Cassandra said rather diffidently, ‘that I have always wondered what it would be like to dance.’
‘Cass!’ Rosalind shook her head in despair. Her charge seemed determined to lower her guard at every opportunity, surrendering to the enemy before they had even engaged in battle.
‘Well, it is the truth, Lindy.’ Cassandra blushed a little, but stood her ground. ‘But how can a blind person learn the steps? It seemed a waste of time to employ a dancing master when neither of us was ever likely to make use of his lessons.’
‘Forgive me,’ Julian stammered. ‘I did not mean — that is, sometimes I forget—’
‘I see no reason,’ St George, frowning, cut in on this muddled speech, ‘why Rosalind, at least, could not have been taught.’
Cassandra seemed much struck by this. ‘You are right, sir,’ she said. ‘I never even thought of it before. How selfish of us to assume that because I could not dance, Lindy might not benefit from learning.’
‘Nonsense!’ Rosalind quickly dismissed this onslaught of self-reproach. ‘I never expressed any such wish, nor do I now. What opportunity would there be for me to employ such a skill?’
‘You have one now,’ St George reminded her. ‘However, I agree that it would not be proper for me to stand up with you while Miss Woodford is forced to abstain.’
‘I can imagine the havoc I should create in a country dance,’ Cassandra added, recovering her humor almost at once, ‘bumping into all and sundry, and tripping over everyone’s feet, including my own.’
‘But what about the waltz?’ Cousin Priscilla suggested. ‘There is nothing difficult about that, since one is guided by one’s partner.’
‘My dear cousin,’ St George said, almost overcome with delight at this evidence of unsuspected intellect, ‘what an inspired notion — a stroke of pure genius.’
‘The waltz!’ Rosalind could barely control her shock. ‘Never could we be persuaded to participate in such a scandalous activity. I understand that it is the most indecent dance.’
‘Oh, my dear Miss Powell,’ Cousin Priscilla hastened to correct her, ‘I assure you it is no such thing. It is danced everywhere in London, I believe — even at Almack’s.’ This last word was spoken in the most reverent tones, as befitted any reference to the hallowed halls of London’s most exclusive assembly rooms, where only the pick of the ton were permitted entry.
‘That is no recommendation, in my opinion.’
‘I am sure that you would have no difficulty learning it, Cassandra,’ Julian said eagerly. ‘There is no danger of you falling, you know, since you would have my arm about you the whole time.’
No further persuasion was needed on the young lady’s part.
‘Oh, do let us try, Lindy!’ Her face glowed with such youthful high spirits and happy anticipation that Rosalind felt her resolve weakening in spite of herself.
‘If you find it offensive, my dear dragon,’ St George continued to quiz her, ‘you need only say the word and we will cease our dissipated revels at once.’
‘Very well,’ she consented grudgingly. ‘You shall have a lesson with Mr Marchmont.’
‘Julian,’ he corrected her, flashing a curiously boyish smile which she found hard to resist.
‘But only if you will allow St George to instruct you as well,’ Cassandra insisted. ‘I do not wish to be the only one made to look a fool for my lack of social graces.’
‘There seems to be a confederacy against me,’ Rosalind complained. Inwardly, she admitted to herself that the thought of having Richard St George’s arm about her was far more tempting than it should be.
‘There is no hope of victory, I’m afraid,’ St George warned her. ‘One must simply submit as gracefully as possible. And, should Miss More require an explanation for such frivolous behavior, one can always argue that dancing is excellent exercise for the body, good for the circulation of the blood and contributing to grace and balance. I really consider it superior to sea bathing, myself.’
‘I yield,’ Rosalind answered with irony, ‘to your superior knowledge of both.’
‘I thought you would.’
With that, he held out his arms. She moved hesitantly towards him. She wasn’t afraid of him, but she was very much afraid of the way her heart was beating and the strange prickly sensation at the back of her neck. Even knowing what he was, she seemed to have no control over her body’s response. He put his right arm around her waist and drew her almost against him. At his word, she placed her left hand on his shoulder while her right hand was clasped in his left.
He commanded Mrs Plummer to play a slow waltz. The strong three-quarter rhythm with its emphasis on the first beat of each bar had an almost mesmeric effect upon her. Or was it Richard’s eyes looking down so intently into her own?
‘Now,’ he said, softly but firmly, ‘you step like this.’
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cassandra similarly engaged with Julian, who was all patience and delicacy. Oh, why could his affection not be real, instead of a hateful simulation?
Either Rosalind was a most precocious pupil, or Richard a fine teacher, but they were twirling about the room in unison in almost no time at all. Cassandra took rather longer to acquire the skill and to overcome the unquestioned difficulties caused by her condition. But, by great care and persistence on Julian’s part and her own
eagerness, she managed to do reasonably well.
* * * *
The fields and trees were silver-gilt from the light of a full moon when they returned home more than an hour later. A misty rain had fallen only a few minutes before their departure, and the droplets glistened here and there in the moonlight, like fairy lights amongst the underbrush.
All this Rosalind described to Cassandra as they progressed. It was a valiant but futile effort to postpone the rapturous reminiscence which must ensue.
‘Was it not absolutely divine?’ Cassandra asked her friend.
‘Very pleasant.’
But Rosalind’s tepid response would not do.
‘Lindy, you are a fraud,’ Cassandra complained. ‘You enjoyed it quite as much as I did, but refuse to admit it.’
‘Did I not just say that it was pleasant?’ Rosalind was glad that the other girl could not see the heightened color in her cheeks. ‘What more do you require of me?’
‘A little less reticence and self-possession.’ Cassandra subsided on to the cushioned carriage seat and closed her eyes, an instinctive action bearing no relation to their sense. ‘Even you must own that waltzing with a man is the most exhilarating and wonderful experience. I truly felt as if I were flying — that my feet were not even touching solid ground!’
How could Rosalind, in all honesty, deny what Cassandra said? She had never been to a ball, never been escorted by a gentleman on to the floor to take part in the dance. She had never been so close to a man’s body before — unless it were the occasional affectionate embrace from her uncle, which was not at all the same thing, she had discovered. But circling the floor in the arms of a man who — at least so far as looks and address were concerned — was everything she had ever dreamed of in the days when she had dared to dream at all, was a pleasure which was unsurpassed in her admittedly limited experience.
If not precisely divine, as Cass had described it, her feelings had certainly been more than just mild enjoyment. There was something about the waltz which was definitely not conducive to rational thought, she decided. Perhaps it was the constant turning about which made one’s heart beat so fast and produced a sensation of light-headedness. She knew not how else to explain what had just occurred. She could have sworn that St George had felt something more as well. The intensity of his gaze, the pressure of his hand clasping hers ... but then, she supposed he must have danced with scores of young women and had probably charmed them just as easily. She might have felt like a princess in his arms, but he was no prince! It was no use to indulge in schoolgirl daydreams. Rosalind might be in danger of losing her heart, but Miss Powell was determined not to lose her head! It was Miss Powell who finally responded to Cassandra.
‘It was not wise to indulge in such disreputable behavior,’ she said primly, using her best governess-to-pupil tone. ‘We are allowing those two men to take far too many liberties, and we must end this charade before it is too late.’
When Cassandra replied to this, it almost overset Rosalind, for it was not the response of a young girl any longer but that of one woman to another — with a disconcertingly adult intuition.
‘My dearest Lindy.’ She leaned against her friend and felt for her hand. ‘You must not be so afraid of loving someone.’
‘Afraid!’ The word was all the more annoying because of its aptness.
‘I know it will probably end in sadness,’ the girl beside her continued with stoic resignation, ‘but I have felt more alive these past weeks than ever before in my life. Julian and St George may not have meant this for our good, but I would not change it for the world. They have given us memories which I think we will both treasure all our lives.’
To this, Rosalind could say nothing, but only reflect silently on the words of Pascal: that the heart has it reasons which Reason knows not of. In theory, she disagreed with Cassandra completely, but life is more than theory, and love is not so neat and tidy as to be limited by logic. They had always been close, though their dispositions were very different, but what they shared now knit them together more than ever, for it was the unity of two women who were embarking on the most perilous journey of all, where the value of the prize to be gained was equalled only by the price which might be paid in ultimate loss.
Chapter Twelve
The trio at the lodge were curiously quiet the next morning. Each man had his respective nose buried in a book which seemed to absorb all his attention, so that conversation had ceased entirely. Mrs Plummer remained upstairs, apparently fatigued by the exertions of the previous evening. At length, though, she appeared at the door of the drawing-room. St George was the first to become aware of her presence. A strange prickling sensation peculiar to those who feel that they are being observed caused him to look up. There was his cousin, her plump figure filling the doorway, an indulgent smile upon her face as she glanced from one to the other.
It struck him suddenly that she would have made a fine mother. There was something maternal and nurturing about her. It was one of those ironies of life, however, that though she had given birth to three children, none of them had survived infancy.
The two gentlemen stood at once and bid her good day.
‘What a delightful picture you both make.’ She sailed forward and hove to at the first available berth: a carved mahogany chair which scarcely looked sufficiently sturdy to support her.
‘Reading,’ she asserted, ‘is what finishes a man’s mind.’ If she was aware of the ambiguous nature of this remark, she did not show it, adding only, ‘Mr Plummer read nothing but the London newspapers, now that I think on it. One may learn much about a man by what he reads. What books have captured your attentions so entirely?’
‘I am reading The Song of Solomon.’ Julian shook his head, as though unable to believe the words printed on the page before him. ‘Listen to this, Richard: “Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor: thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lilies. Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.”’
‘Most unusual and arresting images,’ St George commented after Julian’s animated recital.
‘I remember my dear husband’s favorite verse from the Scriptures.’ Cousin Priscilla’s eyes became suspiciously moist at the memory. ‘From the first book of Samuel, I believe: “Surely there had not been left unto Nabal by the morning light any that pisseth against the wall.”’
Julian’s chin dropped almost to his chest at this latest example of the crudity of ancient texts. He declared himself amazed that such things should be contained in Holy Writ. For his part, St George could not decide which he found more piquant: the quotation itself, or the fact that Cousin Priscilla had for once — at least, as far as he could discern — managed to put the words in their proper order. The late Mr Plummer must have quoted them frequently: whenever he was in his cups, no doubt. He might even have preached a fine sermon upon that particular text when the spirits moved him. His speech might have been somewhat slurred, but St George fancied he could imagine the fire in Mr Plummer’s eyes. At least they must have been a burning red.
‘And what, pray, are you reading, Cousin?’
‘My poor book is not nearly so entertaining,’ Richard confessed. Nevertheless, it was with an air of conscious superiority that he continued: ‘I am reading Mr Wilberforce’s celebrated work, The Practical View of the Prevailing Religious System of Professed Christians in the Higher and Middle Classes of this Country Contrasted with Real Christianity.’
‘You are roasting us!’ Julian’s disbelief was too apparent. ‘I have never heard of such a book.’
‘I am not surprised.’ His tone was somewhat sardonic. ‘The title Is not, perhaps, as memorable as Mr Sterne’s Sentimental Journey, but this is well worth reading, if one is prepared to face without flinching the general hypocrisy and insensibility of oneself and one’s countrymen.’
‘I declare,’ Mrs Plummer said, beaming upon them, ‘I had expected you both to be reading the latest novels from town. But I
suppose one must make allowances for two gentlemen in love.’
‘In love!’ Julian cried, as though she had just boxed his ears. St George, while not so astonished as his younger friend, was conscious that the smile which had tugged at the corners of his mouth had disappeared.
‘Of course!’ Cousin Priscilla, quite unaware of having said anything particularly momentous, continued gaily, ‘Why, you and Miss Woodford are smelling of May and April as strongly as ever I saw two young persons. And I could not be happier for you both. She is an angel, and I think you will deal famously together.’
‘But I believe,’ St George said, with slow deliberation, ‘that you said there were two gentlemen in love in this room.’
She laughed outright at this. ‘You cannot fool me, Cousin! If a man looked at me the way you look at Miss Powell, I would be like to swoon.’
‘And how does Miss Powell look at me?’ he asked, even more deliberately.
‘As if you were the Devil!’ She nodded sagely. ‘It is often the way with young women of strong feeling.’
‘Is it?’
‘Indeed yes. You just pop the question, and see if I am not right.’
‘I think not.’
‘There is no need to be afraid.’ His cousin clearly misunderstood his words. ‘She needs only a little encouragement, I assure you.’
‘I fear you are mistaken, my dear Cousin.’ His voice was solemn, almost menacing. ‘I am not in love with Miss Powell.’
She did not seem at all discomfited by what others would have perceived as a none too polite set-down. Indeed, she smiled more broadly and chuckled softly. She clearly did not believe his protestations.
‘Well,’ she told him, ‘I will not tease you, sir. But I take leave to keep my own opinion. I am not clever, but as they say, “when the moon is right, I know a handsaw from a hawk.”’
Before he could respond to this, they were interrupted by the delivery of a note addressed to the three of them. Since they had not bothered to become acquainted with anyone else in the small neighborhood, it could only come from the abbey. It was St George who picked it up and opened the sealed document, which was a charming invitation from Miss Woodford, asking them if they would care to dine at the abbey that evening.
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