Meriden carved slices from the roast of beef which had been placed before him. "Perhaps Miss Ash is suffering a surfeit of Strettons. Meat, Miss Ash?"
Jane nodded and wished she might sink through the floor.
"You shan't leave us, shall you, Jane?" Maria, on a note of anxiety.
"No, of course not," Jane snapped. "Oh, dear."
"Good gracious," Meriden murmured. "Bless my soul."
Jane said warmly, "You are insufferable, sir. Oh dear." She surrendered to laughter. "To tell the truth, I'm suffering from embarrassment."
His eyes glinted, but he said nothing.
"I have done a sadly encroaching thing," Jane confessed.
"I cannot credit it." He placed a large pink slice on Felix's plate.
"Oh, be still. You are spoiling my confession. Felix, you have dipped your wristband in the sauce."
"Ill-timed, Felix," Meriden murmured.
Jane said with dignity, "I, er, happened to find myself in the lumber room this afternoon and as I was dusting my trunk..."
"You are going to leave us."
"Sir!"
He smiled.
Jane stared at the tablecloth. "As I was rummaging about I discovered your...the Spanish guitarra, and I beg your pardon, sir, for meddling with your belongings, but really the instrument must not be allowed to moulder!"
"Indeed not," he said, much struck. "What have you done with it? Given it to the vicar of Whitchurch?"
"Sir! I have placed it in the music room."
"Ah."
"And it seemed to me, since it is there--"
"That you might as well learn to play it."
Jane cleared her throat. "I have very little aptitude for the art."
"Her ear's not exact," Felix said helpfully.
"How fortunate that you warned me, Felix. I had very nearly volunteered to teach Miss Ash to play."
"Oh, do, Meriden," Drusilla burst in. "What a famous thing! Rap her across the knuckles for her errors!"
"I couldn't do that," Meriden said promptly. "Shall I tear my hair?"
Jane glared. "I wish you may snatch yourself bald, my lord."
Meriden, resuming his interrupted task, passed Miss Goodnight her portion of beef and smiled at Jane. "I had not thought your ear that deficient. Shall we dine?"
Jane sawed furiously at her meat, but a footman had entered with other dishes and she forbore to respond as Meriden deserved. Everyone commenced eating. When the servant left, Jane favoured his lordship with a sweet smile.
"If you truly wish to win Cook's favour, sir, may I suggest that you occasionally try one of her excellent side dishes?" As was his wont, he had declined those exquisite viands without glancing at them.
"It would not do to appear to curry favour."
Jane choked.
Miss Goodnight had been following these exchanges with the vaguely bewildered look that was her response to the satiric.
"Well, we are all very merry tonight," she ventured. "My lord, it occurs to me that, if you should not dislike it, you might accompany Drusilla in an air or two yourself. The instrument blends pleasantly with the human voice, I believe."
Jane felt her jaw drop. To be rescued by Goody! She composed herself. "Pray do, sir."
Meriden did not demur, although he shot her another satirical look that suggested he knew himself to be the victim of a plot.
He shewed a disappointing tendency to pedagogy, however, when the time finally came to perform. Felix must examine the guitarra knob by knob, string by string, trying out under his brother's critical eye all the possible noises the instrument could produce. Jane soon had her fill of disconnected twanging.
"I believe the guitarra is chiefly employed in accompaniment?" she ventured.
"In this country." Meriden reached an arm over Felix's shoulder. "No, Felix, if you wish to form a full chord across the neck your left thumb must be placed here."
Felix complied. "I say, it's surely not in tune?"
"I believe you're right. Our auditors grow impatient, Felix. Strike E for me on the pianoforte so I can put it to rights."
There followed a tedious interval in which the method of tuning a guitarra to itself was demonstrated to Felix's satisfaction.
Drusilla began to lour. Jane wondered what the penalty was for throttling barons.
"Will that do?" Meriden asked at last.
"I think so," Felix grudged.
"Thank you. Now, Miss Goodnight, the choice is yours. What shall it be?"
Miss Goodnight beamed rosily. "Whatever your lordship wishes."
He bowed. "Then we'll leave selection to Drusilla since my repertoire is no doubt passé. Ah, but first the mode of the performance. Shall it be standing, Miss Goodnight, as beneath the auditor's balcony? On one knee? No, I think not." He shot Jane a satirical glance. "Sitting, in fact. I require a chair. No, Maria, mi vida, entirely too low and enveloping. One requires the freedom of the elbow."
His sisters by this time were giggling at his accent. Felix looked puzzled. At last Drusilla pulled forward a plain chair.
"Yes--I mean, sí, bueno. Now, alma de mi corazón, what shall it be?" He seated himself and regarded Drusilla blandly.
"'Go, Lovely Rose'?" Drusilla suggested. Now that the moment had come, she had turned rather pale and tentative.
"Ah, unexceptionable. So impeccably a la inglesa." He saw that his manner flustered her and added with less affectation, "I don't perfectly recall that air. Perhaps if you sang a few bars..."
Drusilla planted her feet and swallowed hard. "Go, lovely rose," she warbled, opening her throat, "tell her that wastes her time and me when I resemble her to thee how sweet and fair she seemstobe..."
Meriden nodded. "Yes, very well. Rather slower, however. Have mercy on my stiff fingers."
Presently they twined the voice and the strum into a pleasant sound. Drusilla sang some half dozen airs in the pretty, clear voice that was so much at odds with her boisterous character. The guitarra, as Jane had suspected it must, did good service in the accompaniment. Drusilla's voice predominated. Even Felix was brought to admit that the combination fell pleasantly on the ear.
Jane was very well pleased with her scheme. When Drusilla would not be persuaded to sing another song, she murmured, "I liked that very well, sir. It is most obliging in you,"
"A sus órdenes, señorita."
She flushed. "I do not have Spanish, sir."
"No? A pity. I'm persuaded it would suit your style."
She did not know what to reply but thought he must mean she had behaved in an autocratic fashion. She was satisfied that her meddling ways had produced an harmonious evening, however, so she merely smiled.
Meriden smiled back. "Do you dance well, Miss Ash?"
"Tolerably."
"Jane dances to perfection," Miss Goodnight said helpfully.
"Splendid. I'm delighted to hear it." He picked out a mournful little catch. "There is one quality of this instrument," thrum, "which is very little understood outside Iberia. Perhaps you should not object, Miss Ash," thrum, "to aiding me in a small demonstration." He ruffled his right hand across the strings to produce a rapid, rather loud tattoo.
Jane started. "What can you mean, sir?"
"Have you never heard this style of thing?" He began to play, and abruptly there was nothing unobtrusive about the guitarra. He started slowly, but the force of the music--she could not call it a song, yet it was music--drove faster and faster, interrupted or augmented at intervals by the peculiar four-finger ruffle. He bent his head over the guitarra, for such intricate sound must demand concentration, and continued for some minutes the furious, dramatic noise, his long fingers flashing. He finished at last in a resounding thump.
Jane blinked.
Meriden looked up and smiled at her again with the bland expression she had learnt to mistrust.
"I say, what was that?" Felix asked in hushed tones.
To Jane's bemusement, Miss Goodnight leaned forward. "It is the fandango si
r, is it not?" Her unremarkable middle-aged face flushed with delight.
"The...oh, no!" Jane exclaimed. "Indeed, sir, I could not. I would not."
"Then perhaps my sister Maria might be persuaded..."
"Sir, you must know it is most improper."
"Is it? Then what shall I do, for you cannot properly appreciate the dance without the dancer."
Jane felt her cheeks burn.
Maria jumped to her feet and expressed a willingness to be instructed. Meriden rose, too, and set the guitarra carefully on the chair.
"Ah, Maria, hermana mía, so you're ready to defy convention, are you?" Maria smiled timidly, and he said in a milder voice, "There will be a deal of stomping and hand clapping. Perhaps you should set down the reticule."
Maria complied.
"Very good. Now, a rose over one ear would be altogether fitting."
"Lord Meriden."
He turned in his stiff way and smiled at Miss Goodnight apologetically. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Shall you dislike it so much?"
Miss Goodnight had risen and come forward. "Indeed not. How it does take me back! San Sebastián, Jane! Dear Lady Wilbraham!"
Meriden and Jane stared.
"I believe you do not remember my mentioning Lady Wilbraham after all, Jane," Miss Goodnight said, rather hurt. "I was some time in her employ, and she, you know, was used to travel widely. Quite five-and-twenty years ago. No, thirty. Before your time, sir."
Meriden snapped his fingers. "The Rose of the Pyrenees! Famous! You said San Sebastián."
"We visited the consul general there some months. If I have seen the fandango danced once, I daresay I have seen it a hundred times. So splendid a sight. Egyptians, you know, Jane."
"Gypsies?" Jane murmured feebly.
"Gitanos," Meriden amended.
"If you do not object, sir, I shall be very happy to shew Maria the manner of the dance."
"I should like it of all things," Meriden said formally. His eyes gleamed.
"Very well. Do you sit then, sir, and you must stand very tall, Maria. So."
Meriden resumed his chair and took up the instrument. Jane closed her eyes.
Later that evening Miss Goodnight came to Jane's room. Wilkins, the abigail, had been brushing Jane's hair, but when Jane saw Miss Goodnight's expression she sent her maid off directly. Miss Goodnight sat down on the sopha.
"Goody, dear, whatever is the matter?"
"I was sure you must be angry with me," her companion wailed. "Oh, Jane, I had forgot it is a house in mourning. Dear Lady Meriden." She looked as if she might burst into tears.
Jane went to her and gave her a swift hug. "Indeed, Goody, we all forgot. Don't refine too much upon it."
"But your aunt..."
"As it is my fault for resurrecting that wretched instrument, I shall explain the matter to her myself. But not," she added hastily, "unless Aunt Louisa requires an explanation. I daresay she may never find out."
"Oh Jane...too good."
"Nonsense," Jane said ruefully. "It's the least I can do, for I don't know when I have been so diverted. Goody, you were a marvel."
Miss Goodnight blushed. "I must have presented a comic spectacle."
Jane took her hand. "No, you did not, and I wish I might have seen you as a girl, for I suspect you took the shine out of all the other belles. Such a very fine sense of tempo, such quickness."
"Oh, I was never anything out of the ordinary." Miss Goodnight still blushed but she no longer writhed with guilt. "How it took me back, Jane. And his lordship--so very kind."
Jane's eyes kindled. "His lordship is entirely without principle."
"No, Jane, how can you say so? He was perhaps a trifle angry with you, or he would not have put you to the blush, but you must own you provoked him."
Jane set her jaw.
"After you and the children retired, he talked with me quite half an hour about Spain," Miss Goodnight said shyly.
"I see how it is," Jane murmured. "You have developed a tendre for Meriden."
Miss Goodnight looked thoughtful. "No. He is not a romantical figure, but I like him very well, for he has been excessively kind to Felix and now--such distinguishing attentions! Portugal! Spain! I am quite in charity with him."
Jane laughed.
"And I should not have put myself forward this evening so unbecomingly had I not been convinced that he meant to shew Maria the steps of the dance himself," Miss Goodnight added with dignity. "Such stamping and twisting about could not have been good for him. I daresay you may not have noticed, Jane, but his lordship is a trifle lame."
Jane stared.
"I have not mentioned it," her companion murmured, oblivious. "Unlike your dear papa when the gout is troubling him, I believe his lordship does not care to be cossetted."
"Very true," Jane said weakly.
"If I did not believe Lady Meriden must know of such a mischance, I should hazard he had been injured in the Belgian fighting. That would explain his prolonged absence in an unexceptionable way."
Jane began once more to laugh.
"It is not a happy possibility." Miss Goodnight frowned her reproof.
"No, and you're correct. Meriden was wounded at Waterloo. The thing is..."
"Lady Meriden. I see. Now why are you laughing, Jane? Indeed it is too bad in you."
Jane gave Miss Goodnight another hug. "It is only that you notice so much more than one supposes."
"My dear, I hope I am discreet."
At that, Jane called up the picture of her discreet companion footing it featly in the fandango and laughed so hard that Miss Goodnight was genuinely offended. Jane had to soothe her with explanations and apologies until the ruffled lady left the room in her usual cheerful spirits. When Jane slipped into bed at last, however, she was still chuckling.
Fortunately, no officious soul saw fit to report the incident to Lady Meriden. Jane did not forgive his lordship at once, but she felt some responsibility and resolved not to allow a word of reproach to fall from her lips. Dignity--not too much reserve, of course, for that would drive Meriden to further satire--must be her watchword. She would be grave and civil and distant. So.
The days passed civilly. It was almost Easter, time to fetch Arthur and Horatio from their school in Lyme Regis. Jane had not forgot the plan to take Felix, but, as nothing further had been said, she assumed the matter had slipped Meriden's mind. His lordship had been much occupied--some urgent matter had called him to Fern Hall for several days--so Jane was startled on the morning of the expedition when Meriden appeared at breakfast to announce that he and Felix meant to join the ladies in their outing. If there were no objections.
As Felix and Drusilla were in the room, Jane acquiesced civilly.
"Are you coming, Felix?" Drusilla's tone expressed surprize and small enthusiasm.
Felix bridled. "I intend to walk upon the Cobb. I have never done so. Meriden says it is unique and historical."
"Monmouth's rebellion." Jane scowled at Drusilla. "I daresay you'll want to explore the strand, too, Felix."
Felix nodded. He looked white with apprehension but determined.
"We mean to call on Mr. Thomas," Meriden interposed. "You've sent for the carriage at ten?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll have to make ready, Felix. It's nearly nine."
"Good heavens, Maria has not yet broken her fast!" Jane exclaimed. "She'll be ill in the carriage if she doesn't take something. Run up to your sister, Dru. Bid her make haste."
Drusilla stuffed a piece of bread into her mouth and jumped up, mumbling to Felix to hurry. She grasped his elbow and led him off.
"I hope we have not overset your plans?" Meriden asked. Civilly.
"There is the small problem of fitting seven people into the carriage on the way back."
"Oh, I'll ride. I could never abide closed carriages. You can stick Horatio and Arthur on top with Thorpe."
"They'll rattle the tin all the way to Whitchurch."
"Yes. A diverting sens
ation for Felix. He'll be quite ready for Dorchester, or even London." Meriden raised his brows. "I thought you agreed that Felix should go about more."
Jane swallowed her vexation. "I did. I'm sure it will turn out well enough. If you will excuse me, my lord, I shall just tell Cook there will be two more to partake of her pic-nick."
"Good God, don't do that. If her little light nuncheons are anything like her plain dinners there will be more than enough for all of us."
In spite of herself Jane smiled. "It is too bad in you, sir. If you'd warned me last evening..."
"Last evening I spent persuading Felix to come."
"I thought you were still at Fern Hall."
"So I was. I returned later than I meant to, but I caught Felix on his way to bed."
"I see." Wondering what cajolery he had used to persuade Felix to take on the World, she went off to the kitchen to warn Cook.
* * * *
The party reached Lyme Regis without incident, stopping first at Mr. Thomas's modest house, where Felix was persuaded to play for the musician's pupils, and then at the boys' school, from which the twins shot like arrows from a drawn bow.
Jane was heartened to see that the masters of the school had not, as her aunt had prophesied, beaten and starved the twins into decorum, but as the morning progressed she began to wonder if a little beating and starvation might not be called for. Given the princely sum of a shilling apiece to spend as they willed, the two made shambles of shop after sweet shop through the steep streets of the town.
She and Meriden and Felix caught up with the twins finally at a shop that purveyed licorice whips. Arthur stood inside in earnest conference with the proprietor, but they found his brother, disconsolate, on the step.
"How now, Horatio?" Jane said in rallying tones.
He looked up and, catching sight of Meriden, brightened. "I say, sir, could I have tuppence? They make the most splendid whips."
Meriden regarded him sadly. "Pockets to let already?"
The boy nodded.
"Thrift, thrift, Horatio," said Jane and Meriden in one breath.
Felix gave a crow of startled laughter. "l know that one. It's from--"
"Very good," Meriden interrupted, "but this is a grave matter, Felix. Do not be laughing at your brother's plight. Now, Horatio, consider. Arty has tuppence to squander on whips. You don't. What have you that your brother has not?"
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