Daphne

by Beaton, M. C.

  What if Miss Armitage should prove that wonderful being for whom he had searched so long – a woman who would not bore him after ten minutes? And what if she asked after those wretched beasts and he had to confess they had died of broken hearts?

  His carriage arrived and two of his footmen marched forwards to let down the steps and open the door.

  ‘James,’ said Mr Garfield, drawing on his gloves, ‘pray go into the house and fetch the dogs. I am taking them with me.’

  James cast an eloquent look at the carriage, which was an open barouche.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ he said woodenly.

  Mr Garfield settled himself in the carriage and sighed.

  The door of the house opened and Thunderer and Bellsire streaked out, tugging the helpless footman after them.

  ‘Sit!’ commanded Mr Garfield awfully. The dogs climbed up on the seat next to him and sat up very straight, looking around them eagerly, their pink tongues lolling out.

  ‘I say,’ said Lord Hazleton anxiously to his friend the Honourable John Jakes. ‘Ain’t that Garfield, and ain’t he got two foxhounds?’

  Mr Jakes tried not to stare. ‘Pon rep,’ he giggled. ‘You are not up to the mark. Foxhounds is In. Everybody takes a couple around.’

  Each man strolled on, privately wondering how soon they could find a couple to rival Mr Garfield.

  The Reverend Charles Armitage was a most discontented man. He had brought Daphne to London shortly after Mr Garfield’s visit with all the speed of a man long-accustomed to rushing his daughters up and down to town in pursuit of various marriageable beaux. He had been astounded by the fact that Mrs Armitage had briefly emerged into the real world to show some animation at the prospect of Daphne’s alliance with Mr Garfield and had announced her intention of coming to London as well. Minerva was still in Brighton giving her two-year-old son, Julian, the benefit of the sea air, and so the Armitage family were making use of her husband Lord Sylvester Comfrey’s town house.

  Diana was sulking and pining and complaining that she did not like life in town and London smelled abominably.

  Little Frederica seemed to have her nose in some book or other and could rarely be persuaded to step out of doors.

  The vicar had strolled past Mr Garfield’s house from time to time in the hope of seeing some sign that that gentleman had returned, but to date he seemed noticeably absent.

  Annabelle showed little interest in the prospect of Daphne making a rich marriage. She played all day long with baby Charles and did not seem to pay much attention to her husband.

  And then there was the beautiful Mr Archer. The vicar had dropped several very large hints in that exquisite young man’s shell-like ear that he would not be a welcome addition to the Armitage family, but Mr Archer had just smiled sweetly at the vicar and had said something quite inane which showed he had not been paying the slightest attention whatsoever.

  Then there was Daphne herself. Never had she looked more beautiful or had she appeared more lifeless. Which all went to show, thought the vicar savagely, that Cyril Archer was doing nothing to raise her spirits at all. She most certainly was not in love with the man.

  In that, he was wrong. For Daphne had persuaded herself she was in love with Mr Archer; persuaded herself with such intensity that it was almost the same as the real thing. Once again, however, she carefully controlled her manner and expression. If she just went doggedly on with the goal of marriage to Mr Archer in mind, neither looking to the right nor the left, then things would work out. She and Mr Archer could set up house somewhere pretty and admire each other at length. Mr Archer did not expect her to think very deeply on any subject and would have been quite alarmed if Daphne had shown any signs of animation or intelligence. Deep down Daphne sensed this, and since she herself found Mr Archer’s calm and beautiful stupidity an attraction, she was well able to appreciate the value of her own attraction for him and take pains not to do anything to mar it.

  She was glad the irritating and upsetting Mr Garfield had stayed away. From time to time she worried about Bellsire and Thunderer, imagining them being ill-treated, cursed and beaten. Sometimes she even fantasized finding out the direction of Mr Apsley’s kennels and rescuing the hounds on a dark moonless night.

  Mr Archer had called on her that very afternoon and had taken her for a drive in the park. Her father had been absent and Mrs Armitage could find nothing amiss in allowing the seemingly innocuous Mr Archer to squire her daughter. It had been a pleasant and undemanding outing and they had excited a great deal of admiration. Mr Archer was divinely fair with white gold curls falling over a broad marble brow. His eyes were of a deep and intense blue and his mouth was beautifully shaped and perpetually curled in one of those smiles you see on classical statues – which is really what it was in a way, Mr Archer having practised that smile before the looking glass until he had it quite perfect.

  He had rather curved elongated lids as well which added to his classical appearance. His only fault was that he was rather hollow-chested but that had been rectified by buckram wadding, and, since Daphne had never seen him without his coat, she was unaware of this defect.

  Lady Godolphin had been thrown into a flurry by the arrival of Mr Garfield’s footman for she had found a substitute for him to make up her dinner table, that substitute being the fair Mr Archer. She knew Mr Armitage would be annoyed but she had always considered Mr Archer merely as a decoration and no threat at all.

  In despair, Lady Godolphin had sent a note to Mr Archer’s lodgings, telling him that unfortunately his presence would mean she would be seating thirteen and she did so hope he would not consider it inconvenient to consider his invitation null and void.

  Mr Archer had sent a note by return saying, yes, he did find it inconvenient and looked forward to her dinner party prodigiously, which made Lady Godolphin so incensed she damned him as having a hide as thick as a runningsoris.

  But at least Lady Godolphin had the pleasure of letting Mr Armitage know that the prey in the form of Mr Garfield was shortly to enter the net.

  The vicar’s spirits soared again but caution prevented him from telling Daphne that Mr Garfield was to be one of the guests.

  Daphne knew that Archer was to be at Lady Godolphin’s and so Daphne would no doubt be looking her most beautiful.

  Daphne did look exquisite as the Armitage party set out for Lady Godolphin’s. Only Daphne, Mr and Mrs Armitage were to attend. Diana and Frederica, to their great relief, were to be left behind. Daphne was wearing a white muslin gown with a thin gold stripe, each stripe having been delicately embroidered onto the fine fabric. The dress had a very high waist and a very low bodice. The bodice was unlined and the thin material exposed more of Daphne’s charms to the public gaze than the vicar thought seemly.

  The trouble was he only noticed the scantiness of her gown when they arrived at Lady Godolphin’s. He also noticed that the gown opened all the way down the back to reveal a pink scanty petticoat which managed to create the fleeting illusion that Daphne was wearing nothing underneath.

  The vicar’s conscience told him he should ask Lady Godolphin to lend Daphne a shawl. But the other Mr Armitage fought stoutly with the niggling voice of conscience – and won. Girls were fit for nothing better in life than to get married and rear children, and if you were going to bait the man-trap, then it argued that the bait should be as attractive as possible.

  Daphne had chosen the dress some time ago from a fashion plate in La Belle Assemblée. She was not in the slightest aware that it was daring; only that it felt cool and comfortable and that the gold and white nicely set off the blackness of her hair and the whiteness of her skin.

  She was completely unaware of the sexual attractions of her body; she was only conscious of the beauty of her face.

  In Mr Archer’s inclusion in the dinner party, Daphne saw great hope. Her father’s moods were as variable as the winds of Heaven, and given that the wind was blowing in the right direction at the right time, then it was quite p
ossible that she would be able to marry Mr Archer and live placidly ever after.

  It was not until the company was gathered in Lady Godolphin’s Green Saloon that Mrs Armitage let the cat out of the bag. She tweaked Daphne’s dress at the back to straighten the fall of the delicate muslin and murmured, ‘I am glad you are in looks, my pet. Mr Garfield is a very great catch.’

  ‘Oh, mama, Mr Garfield is not here,’ pointed out Daphne, smiling in an unruffled way in the direction of Mr Archer.

  ‘But he is expected!’ said Mrs Armitage.

  A tide of colour rushed into Daphne’s face. She remembered Mr Garfield’s hard mouth, hard body, and strange yellow eyes. All at once she felt her security threatened and instinctively moved to Mr Archer’s side.

  ‘Your dress is beautiful, Miss Daphne,’ said that gentleman. ‘I must copy that idea for a waistcoat – gold stripes on white muslin.’

  ‘Do but listen!’ hissed Daphne. ‘Mr Simon Garfield is shortly to arrive and Papa wishes me to marry him.’

  ‘But you cannot,’ said Mr Archer simply, ‘for we are to be married – to each other.’

  Daphne felt let down. If this was a proposal of marriage, it was not the sort of proposal of which she had dreamt.

  ‘Are we to be married?’ she whispered, but Mr Archer had found a loose thread in the discreet length of striped stocking which was peeping below his left pantaloon leg and that seemed to be absorbing all his attention, as in fact it was. He was wondering whether to boldly demand a pair of scissors to snip off the offending thread, or whether to make an excuse and retire to his lodgings and do it there, or whether his nails were sharp enough to slice it off, or whether, if he tugged it, the whole stocking would bunch up into an unseemly knot.

  There was no one of very great moment at the dinner party – for alas poor Brummell, fled to the Continent before his baying creditors – and London was thin of company. Mr Archer had now heard Mr Garfield was to be of the party but was not impressed. Any man who did not cultivate the good will of the ton was beyond his understanding and no one had ever seen Mr Garfield trying to impress anyone.

  It showed Lady Godolphin’s current lack of spirit in that the guests, other than the three Armitages, Mr Archer, and the still absent Mr Garfield, were all comparatively young, Lady Godolphin normally liking to surround herself with septuagenarians so that she might feel young herself. There were three married couples, Lord and Lady Brothers, the Honourable Peter and Mrs Nash, and Colonel and Mrs Cartwright, all of unimpeachable social standing, all thirtyish, and all infernally dull.

  Conversation turned on the enormous size of the Prince Regent which had prompted a solemn article in The Times about how he contrived to mount a horse.

  ‘An inclined plane,’ that august newspaper had reported, ‘was constructed, rising to the height of two feet and a half, at the upper end of which was a platform. His Royal Highness was placed on a chair on rollers, which was then raised by screws high enough to let the horse pass under; and finally, his Royal Highness was let gently down into the saddle. By these means the Regent was undoubtedly able to enjoy in some degree the benefit of air and exercise …’

  But Lord Brothers shook his head and said that even that device had failed to tempt the Regent into the saddle of late since he had left off his stays and was become Falstaffian in bulk and language. ‘He told me t’other day when I was at Brighton,’ confided Lord Brothers, ‘that even the fineness of weather does not tempt him abroad. His great size and weight make him nervous and he is afraid to ride. He says, “Why should I? I never had better spirits, appetite and health than when I stay within, and I am not so well when I go abroad.”’

  Mrs Nash, who was of a sour disposition, said that the Regent was entirely given over to pleasure and idleness and spent most of his days shut up with his tailors examining different patterns of uniforms.

  Colonel Cartwright said acidly that the whole conversation smacked of sedition and for his part he had found the Regent to be very hard-working. Since he glared quite ferociously around the room as he said this, it had the effect of causing an awkward silence.

  Then Lady Godolphin weighed in with, ‘I do think His Highness’s idea of throwing open all the prisons and asylums next Sunday is such a good and humane idea. Do you think it will work out?’

  The shocked babble and exclamations that greeted this whopping lie had the desired effect of getting everyone to talk again.

  And then, above the noise, the butler announced loudly and clearly, ‘Mr Garfield.’

  Daphne found her heart beginning to beat very hard and moved very close to Mr Archer. Her father glared at her furiously but she pretended not to notice.

  Mr Archer began to murmur fretfully in Daphne’s ear, ‘I wonder where he got that waistcoat. White piqué! But don’t you find it a trifle severe?’

  Daphne did not appear to have heard him. She was watching Simon Garfield as he moved from group to group until at last he stood before her.

  ‘Miss Daphne,’ he murmured, ‘how very beautiful you look. And with all your wits about you which most definitely adds to your charm.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Daphne calmly, not one flicker of expression marring the smooth oval of her face.

  Mr Garfield’s gaze dropped for a second to her bosom and a strange yellow light turned his eyes to topaz. Then his eyes returned to Daphne’s bland face and he gave a little sigh as if something had disappointed him.

  The vicar was standing behind Mr Garfield, hopping from foot to foot in his impatience. He wanted Daphne to rouse herself and do something to attract Mr Garfield. He also wanted to remind Mr Garfield about his promise of one thousand guineas.

  At last Mr Garfield turned around and surveyed the little vicar. ‘I have asked my secretary to find an expert to restore your church, Mr Armitage,’ he said.

  ‘No need for that, don’t you see,’ pointed out the vicar eagerly. ‘We have local craftsmen a-plenty.’

  ‘No doubt,’ said Mr Garfield. ‘But they will need someone to direct them. You amaze me, reverend. I would have supposed you delighted not only to have the money but to have the organization of the matter taken out of your hands.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ muttered the vicar. ‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’

  Mr Garfield bowed before his baffled look and made his way towards his hostess.

  ‘Very pleased you could honour us,’ said Lady Godolphin and then spoiled her courteous remark by adding sourly, ‘It weren’t for want o’ trying. I sent card after card.’

  ‘The honour is mine,’ said Mr Garfield. ‘I am amazed you went to so much trouble to ensure my presence.’

  ‘Nagged into it, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘Indeed. By whom?’

  ‘Oh, never mind,’ said Lady Godolphin, cursing her own loose tongue. She rang the bell. What on earth had happened to dinner?

  Her worry grew as her butler, Mice, failed to answer the summons. Footmen were circulating with glasses of wine, lemonade and ratafia. ‘If this evening is successful,’ thought Lady Godolphin, ‘then I shall charge the lot to Charles.’

  Mindful of her promise to help the Armitages, she turned back to Mr Garfield.

  ‘Miss Daphne is in looks, would you say?’ she asked.

  ‘Very much so,’ remarked Mr Garfield with pleasant indifference.

  ‘Not gettin’ married?’ pursued Lady Godolphin.

  ‘I am a happy bachelor, my lady, I have no ambitions in that direction. Have you?’

  Lady Godolphin blinked, and then realised he had probably a right to be equally personal. ‘No,’ she sighed. ‘I have decided to remain chased and unsulkied. Drat that man. Mice.’

  ‘Some gentleman is responsible for a plague of mice?’

  ‘No, no, my butler, Mice. What ails the man?’

  Mr Garfield helped himself to another glass of madeira and watched with amusement as Lady Godolphin’s angry eyes looked pointedly at his glass and then pointedly at the vicar as if hammering home how
much it was all costing.

  Mr Garfield glanced at Mr Archer and he wondered if Daphne knew what she was about in that direction. Did she think Mr Archer really the beautiful, rather effeminate man he seemed? Probably she did. There had been a few unsavoury stories about him but they were not in general circulation.

  Perhaps they deserved each other. It was a pity that such a beautiful girl should turn out to be so insipid. Mr Archer bent his head and said something. Daphne caught Mr Garfield’s watching eye and, yes, she definitely simpered.

  The double doors leading to the saloon opened and the butler appeared, hurriedly straightening his striped waist-coat.

  ‘Dinner is served,’ he said in a strangled falsetto.

  ‘Been at the port again,’ mumbled Lady Godolphin.

  The party filed across the hall to the dining room in order of precedence.

  Daphne had the honour of being seated next to Mr Garfield at dinner.

  She had caught his fleeting look of disgust when she had quite deliberately simpered in that silly way and so decided to be as missish as possible.

  The first course was green pea soup removed by a haunch of lamb, larded and glazed with cucumber sauce.

  Lady Godolphin did not believe in the new-fangled affectation of having footmen serve the guests with everything. She preferred the dishes to be left on the table and the guests to help themselves.

  When the tepid pea soup had been drunk, she accordingly asked that the haunch of lamb be placed in front of Mr Garfield for that gentleman to carve.

  Mice removed the silver cover from the dish. Mr Garfield picked up the carving knife and fork. Then his eyes narrowed and he gently poked at the joint and turned it over. Someone appeared to have chewed a large mouthful out of the underside.

  ‘I am afraid I cannot serve this, Lady Godolphin,’ he said.

  ‘Whyever not?’ demanded Lady Godolphin, who was at the far end of the table, her view of the haunch being blocked by a silver épergne which depicted Wolfe scaling the heights of Quebec. It was an enormous épergne covered in nasty little silver figures doing quite awful things to each other.