The musicians were taking their places. Sir Richard approached to escort Laura to her seat.
“I know just what my cousin would quote,” said Laura. “Honest labour bears a lovely face.”
“That can only be the favourite quote of an honest man,” said Jane.
CHAPTER 30
TWO DAYS BEFORE EDWARD’S WEDDING, the morning of the ball arrived at last.
Mrs. Evans entered the kitchen at the unearthly hour of nine o’clock. The table was groaning with produce and dishes in various stages of preparation.
Mrs. Evans picked up the menu. “How fares the white soup, Mrs. Croghan?” she said. Cook led the way to the scullery. A maid was busy skimming the fat from the top of a great pan of stock, made from the boiling up of knuckles of white veal, bacon, onions, celery and herbs.
“Remember to remove any impurities, Maud,” said Mrs. Evans. “You will need to stir very thoroughly.”
“Maud knows her work, madam,” said the cook.
Elspeth turned back to the kitchen. A girl was picking through a basket of almond kernels. Mrs. Evans frowned. “Are you sure you have a full pound, Jenny?”
“There was a few rotten, madam.”
“Well, replace them!”
Mrs. Croghan went to unlock the door of the storeroom, and, under her watchful eye, Jenny picked up a small handful of the nuts.
“Grind them very fine, Jenny,” said Mrs. Evans. “Mr. Evans always insisted on perfect white soup.”
Mrs. Croghan’s nerves were teetering on edge.
The progress of every dish for the supper was examined, when Cook would rather have spent the time in expediting matters. She would herself prepare the pastry for the pigeon pies—no one could match her wonderfully decorated pie top with the head of a bird protruding from the centre in a wondrously lifelike manner.
“Them hogs’ tongues look a treat, madam,” said Jenny boldly.
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Evans.
The delights in question steamed on a plate, awaiting skinning for their role in Chicken with Tongues. There would be three platters of this dish, which Mrs. Croghan considered another of her specialties. The chickens lay in their pans, having been soaked in milk, then rubbed with lemon juice the day before. What no one knew—not even her own maids—was the secret ingredient she added to the traditional recipe. If Mrs. Evans hoped to catch her in the act, she would be disappointed.
The trifles, jellies and cakes sat in sweet array upon the pantry shelves. Mrs. Evans was satisfied.
After breakfast, Elspeth said, “Come with me, Laura, to inspect the arrangements. This will be your duty in future.”
The sisters had scarcely been alone together since their quarrel about the sketch. They were busy with their guests and avoided intimacy, both unpleasantly aware that suspicion now shadowed their understanding. Laura decided to end their impasse and accompanied Elspeth with as good a spirit as she could.
The long drawing room had been largely cleared of furniture, leaving only a line of chairs along one wall. The carpets were rolled up and put aside. A dais had been erected at the end of the room for the orchestra. Elspeth touched one of the ornate floral arrangements that filled the window embrasures and decorated the stage.
“What think you of this, Laura?”
“Very pretty.”
“Pretty? I prefer fashionable. I do not imagine many of the guests would have seen anything like it before.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Really, Laura! When did you see anything so unusual? I had them modelled on the latest Paris style.”
“Nasty French ways,” said Laura, smiling.
For a moment, Mrs. Evans was quite put out. “You think of stupid Aunt Morrison. Imagine the difficulties of doing anything elegantly with her about!” She laughed.
“The card tables are set up in the library. The solar will be exclusively for the ladies to attend to their dress. They will then be seen to advantage coming down the stairs.”
Sir Richard sent his carriage out on its rounds early to convey several family parties who lacked a carriage of their own. The Charmans were first, the elderly sisters having insisted they would like to keep out of the way in the solar until more guests were in attendance. More than modesty motivated them, for young Fanny wanted to take up her place by the window and look down upon the carriages as they arrived. Miss Charman felt quite up to the mark, the gift of lace adding a certain finish to her gown. Miss Annabel had made do with some trimmings unpicked from a couple of cushions.
The baronet had steadfastly refused to appear in court dress, making it known in the district that he would not. He wore a new coat of black silk, over a waistcoat of gold brocade. His valet had insisted on a new fashionable knot in his cravat, in which lay the diamond pin presented to him by his mother on his eighteenth birthday. With breeches, stockings, pumps all new, Mrs. Evans hardly knew what to criticise.
He came downstairs a few minutes early, putting his head in at the door of the solar, to enquire after the needs of the early visitors. The older ladies were settled very comfortably by the fire enjoying the coffee Laura had sent up, but Fanny turned from her post to curtsy. She was finely attired in a gown of white muslin, with blue ornaments. Her hair was held in a circlet of diamonds—if they were not real, nobody would find fault with her appearance.
“Miss Fanny, you are so elegant that you will frighten all your beaux,” Sir Richard said.
“I don’t have any, sir,” she replied, her eyes sparkling.
“Then you very soon will,” he said. “Excuse me, ladies.” With a solemn bow, he left the room.
“Look! Aunt Annabel—here comes a carriage,” said Fanny.
Miss Annabel was not above coming to join her.
“It is the Woodruffs’, I believe. They are certain to be early.”
“Will Mr. Woodruff be in their party?”
“I doubt that very much,” said Miss Charman. “I hear that a barrister in London has taken him on, in a very junior position.”
“He must feel so desperate.”
“It will do him no harm,” said Miss Charman. “He will learn there is a price to pay when one quarrels with an elder.”
Fanny went to peep over the banister. Sir Richard stood in the hall below, looking up; she saw that his party began to descend the flight of steps opposite her, which led from the private apartments.
Fanny ran back to the door of the solar. “Mrs. Evans wears lilac satin with a black lace overskirt,” she whispered. “There are pearls all over her bodice! And she wears a tiara and a necklace of pearls. She is very, very grand!” She scurried back to look. Over her shoulder, she said, “Mrs. Bell is in white satin. Such a gown! You would not know her! She wears a chain, with a topaz pendant. And wait …”
“Fanny, come and sit down, my dear,” said Miss Charman, unheard.
However, Fanny now stayed in position, merely turning to whisper loudly, “She has a bandeau of white silk, with the tiniest little cap over her chignon, and there is something in the bandeau—a brooch!”
Miss Annabel joined her niece on the landing, although a little further from the banister.
“Here is the captain,” said Fanny. “I never saw such a uniform! So much gold! And medals! He is very handsome!”
Fanny gasped as the captain turned on the stair to wait for Laura.
Miss Annabel cried, “Oh, Sister! Come—look at Miss Morrison!”
Temptation overcame Miss Charman at last: she came out to join them.
From the simple diamond tiara in her hair to her embroidered dancing shoes, Laura was perfectly lovely. The low neck of her gown was decorated with a band of exquisite lace. From beneath her bosom, the gathered muslin skirt floated to the floor, edged at the hem with a wide band of lace. On the left, the skirt was drawn up to her sash, creating a cascade of lace that revealed the silk skirt beneath, embroidered along the bottom with the Grecian design. Her sash of green satin was simply tied, with the ends h
anging down in the front, finished with fancy green tassels.
“See how the embroidery on her sleeves is traced over with green glass beads,” said Miss Annabel. “That gem in her necklet is an emerald, I am sure. I imagine it was her mother’s.”
Fanny looked down at her own beautiful gown, feeling the deepest gratitude for the gift.
“I understand now why you refused the invitation when first it came, Aunt,” she said.
The Morrisons stood in their places in the reception line, as one party after another climbed the steps, to be greeted by the host’s party. Laura had received compliments before but this experience was new. There was a deference mixed with admiration.
Guests stood in the hall, watching as the Dowager Viscountess Fardon examined Miss Morrison. “Very fitting, my dear,” she said. “You will do very well.”
Laura did not need to ask which test she passed.
The viscount surveyed her through his monocle. “I hope you are not engaged for the third dance, Miss Morrison.”
“I thank you, Viscount. I am honoured.”
Whispers rippled through the bystanders. The viscount always danced the first dance with his hostess, the second with his lady, then spent the rest of the evening at cards. Elspeth tried not to let her triumph show.
The musicians were playing and the young began to tap their feet when the reception line broke up. The people left in the hall looked up as a group of people came out of the solar. The countess had linked arms with a delightful young lady; they came down the stairs together. Lady Clarydon, glittering in a gown of autumnal silk, sparkling with gold, was lending consequence to Miss Fanny Charman. Behind them came the two aunts, Miss Annabel scarcely able to contain her delight over her ladyship’s condescension. The baronet gave the countess a courtly bow and offered his hand to the countess. The first set was forming.
Evalina was delicious in white silk, the bodice and hem decorated with rows of pink ribbon flowers. She wore a circlet of gold in her dark curls. She had declared she would dance alternate dances, despite Edward’s protests that he could survive. She could scarcely bear to be separated from her captain, who would not consent to perform dance steps adapted to his disablement.
Laura had accepted First Lieutenant Mitchell’s request, and joined the first set. Already her dance card was almost full. The future Lady Morrison would not sit out any dances on that night. She was aware of her prominence as she moved through the stately steps of the minuet, of being accorded almost the deference shown to the two titled ladies.
Now, all was altered on the grounds of her expected marriage. As Lady Morrison, her tastes would be consulted and her opinions debated. It may be that some gentlemen sought to be her dance partner on account of her position, but what of it, if that consequence afforded her more enjoyment of dance?
The countess, with her impeccable beauty, lent honour to the occasion, as did the presence of the viscountess and the dowager, with their plain faces and full display of diamonds. The pretty widow, Mrs. Evans, was as enchanting as all expected: her lilac satin was muted suitably with black lace; her pearls rendered less showy by the attached mourning locket.
When Sir Richard led Mrs. Bell out onto the dance floor, the talk was of his kindness, his thoughtfulness, his generosity to a dull little widow.
However, when Sir Richard led out his cousin Laura for a second dance, there were murmurs of how right this was, how romantic, how perfect, after all these years.
Supper was served in the dining hall, where a second table had been placed at right angles to the long board. In the centre sat Mrs. Evans, with the viscount at her side. The gentlemen mostly wore black evening garb, with the occasional full dress military uniform. Between them, the ladies sparkled in their finest—it was as close to full dress as Elspeth could imagine ever happening in this backwater—a ball that would never be forgotten. She was satisfied enough.
The servants moved about, pouring wine and serving the soup, with glasses of Negus. First Lieutenant Mitchell was seated by Miss Fanny Charman. How well the girl looked in her charity gown. Good enough for Mr. Mitchell, anyway, Elspeth thought.
“As excellent a white soup as I have tasted,” said the viscount.
“Then I am content,” said Elspeth.
She saw that Laura was part way along the table, enjoying a joke, apparently, with that drab squire, Mr. Jenner. He was probably telling her about his pigs. As she watched (from the corner of her eye, for she had a viscount to entertain) Elspeth saw how many guests covertly watched her sister. She imagined them in conversation about how life at Oakmont would improve, with all of them enjoying frequent hospitality, when Laura became the baronet’s wife.
CHAPTER 31
THE NEXT MORNING, LAURA WAS awaiting Mrs. Woodruff and her daughters, who would call for her to come with them on a drive. Laura went upstairs to ask Elspeth if she had any commission for her in the village.
She passed through her own room and tiptoed into their shared dressing room, not wanting to disturb Elspeth if she was still asleep. The door from the dressing room into Elspeth’s bedroom swung silently ajar on oiled hinges, and Laura heard her sister’s voice.
“Her pride will never let her admit it, but I saw how she enjoyed her success last night.”
The countess could be heard to giggle and Laura flushed, in the dimness of the little room. She was about to creep out but was arrested by the shock of her sister’s next words.
“The physician unearthed by my brother is full of praise for the state of matrimony.”
She betrays me! thought Laura.
“He has the highest credentials, having trained with Pinel, in Paris, you know.”
“Monsieur Pinel, indeed! Is he not in a rage for treating lunatics with kindness?”
“It seems she does not require chaining up, for marriage to our dear Turtle would cure her ills.” There was more laughter.
The countess said, “In what way is that happy state to cure your sister of her fancies?”
She knows! A flood of heat rose to Laura’s face. She feared to move lest she betray her presence.
“Fancies, indeed!” tittered Elspeth. “How very kind you are, my dear, dear Amelia.” Dr. Mellbone opines that the loneliness of my sister’s life has produced a state of … what did he call it? … Alienation of Mind. How scholarly that sounds.”
Both women giggled.
“Go on.”
“It seems the happiness of obtaining that worthwhile object—the husband—will cure her of her delusions.”
“You still do not tell me how, my love, but I know the masculine mind well enough to guess. Not a man amongst them thinks we women can keep our sanity without their attentions in … private!”
Both the women subsided into laughter, until Elspeth said, “One can only hope the gentleman is … suited to his task.”
“It is a pity she did not marry the earl,” said his lady. “He is very … robust in the delivery of sanity to a lady.”
The scandalised note in Elspeth’s laugh seemed all pretence. After a moment or two, she said, “My adored old husband deserved the highest praise for his efforts, but I know not that I have received, in full, the husband’s cure for madness.”
“You alarm me!”
“Should I begin to show signs of derangement, my dear, I hope you will be kind enough to dispatch me.”
“I shall buy the dearest little pearl-handled pistol for the very purpose—unless you would prefer to borrow the earl as insurance?”
“That is a generous offer indeed, but I am of too delicate a constitution to survive his cure.”
“Of course—the pistol it must be.”
Had she held the dainty weapon, Laura felt she could have pulled the trigger herself. Quietly—for she could not bear them to hear her—she tiptoed to the door at the side of the room, which led into her own chamber. There she sank into her armchair to brood on what she had heard. Her feelings were in turmoil. She recoiled from her sister’s betra
yal—not only in revealing, but making a joke of what was to be a family secret.
After this, can I reside with her? How can I live with her barbed references to the past? With the knowledge of her treachery?
I cannot leave Oakmont with her—I cannot.
I am mortified. What choices do I have?
Can I live with Edward? Will my brother, too, tell his beloved of my misadventures?
Will they laugh over it in secret?
The picture arose in her mind of the enchanting young Evalina, eyes opening wide, as she heard the story of her sister-in-law’s madness.
My God, no! Only Richard does not judge me.
She hastened downstairs to find her brother in the hall, about to go out. She caught his arm.
“What is it, Laura?”
“I am ready, Edward. I wish to sign the contract now—at once.”
His eyes sparked at the news; he doffed his hat and threw off his cloak, embracing Laura. “This is wonderful,” he said. “I will send my own servant for the attorney.”
“Michael!” he shouted, though the footman stood but ten feet away.
“Yes, Captain.”
“Tell Griffiths to come at once—he will take my horse on an urgent errand.” He went into the library and Laura followed him.
“Is all this necessary, Edward? Why wait for the attorney?”
The captain looked up from writing his note. “All will be done according to form, Laura.”
Two minutes later, Griffiths was riding at full speed to the town, while servants were sent in search of the baronet.
Laura, at the eye of the storm, was still and silent.
The occasion was celebrated with Oakmont’s best wines at dinner. The evening passed. Laura smiled, laughed, looked suitably modest during the gentlemen’s speeches in her praise. Locked within her were other feelings; she knew not what they were. She intended never to name them.
After the ladies went up to bed, the two men stood side by side outside the great door, looking at the moonlight.
The Imaginary Gentleman Page 24