Instead, she confined herself to joining in the preparations for their picnic on the grass. They spread a rug at the point where they had the best view of the Falls and where Washington and the war could be forgotten. There they unpacked the hamper which Jack had brought with him. She and Marietta exclaimed over its contents. It was crammed to the brim with ham and beef sandwiches, cheese, rolls and butter, cake, cookies and fruit.
‘No muffins,’ he told them, laughing, ‘too dangerous.’
Yet another hamper contained china, glasses, silverware, damask napkins and a bottle of wine. There was even a damask tablecloth, and a small spray of flowers in a tiny holder to act as a centrepiece. He opened the wine with a flourish and passed the glasses around as though he was entertaining them in one of the finest dining-rooms in either London or Washington.
Marietta was amused and impressed by such cool sophistication. Jack had the habit of transforming all he touched, she thought. Wherever he went he cast a glamour on life, whether he was organising a tea party, a picnic, or even a simple walk—everything was transcended, made interesting.
She told him so.
‘Oh, it was the Patriarch, our father, who taught us that life is what you make it,’ Jack said, eating his picnic meal with polite gusto. ‘Penny-plain or tuppence-coloured, he told us, work for it—and then enjoy it. We must not be mean with ourselves; food and drink were meant to be enjoyed and they are the lubricants of life.’
Marietta was struck by the way in which Alan and Jack spoke of their dead father. When she looked at Jack, lazily stretched out on the grass, toasting the Falls, charming herself and Aunt Percival as effortlessly as he charmed all those he met, she wondered what his father could have been like, seeing that both Jack and Alan regarded themselves as being inferior to him.
Aunt Percival watched Marietta, not Jack. She was being responsive for the first time to a man and was offering herself freely to him with few reservations. She laughed with and at him, teased him, and, forgetting her supposed plainness, she became less plain.
Indeed, while the pair of them talked and joked together, admired the view and, lunch over, strolled by the river, she thought what a splendid pair they made. Beside Jack, Marietta was not too tall and his relaxed manner eased her. They had left Aunt Percival behind—at her tactful urging—to drowse in the early afternoon sun.
She saw them reach the bend in the path running to the Falls, saw Jack turn to Marietta, bend his head, take her hand and kiss it. They were too far away for her to hear, or guess, what they were saying, but his manner was unmistakable. Admiration and affection were plain in it—but was love there, too?
Oh, please God, thought Aunt Percival, seeing Marietta spark back at him, her manner also unmistakable, let him be serious. He is what she needs. She has so much to offer to any man who has the wit to see her as she truly is. She is worth twenty Sophies. Let it be more than friendship with him. He is too good for Sophie, even if he is not nearly good enough for Marietta! For Aunt Percival, no one was good enough for Marietta, but from what she had seen of Jack, she thought that, failing perfection, he might do.
She was not wrong to hope. Jack had originally been intrigued by Sophie’s prettiness and her facile charm, but Marietta’s good intellect and her strong sense of fun had gradually caused him to transfer his attentions from one cousin to the other. The more he saw of Marietta, the more his mere admiration had turned into love.
She carried her wit and learning with such ease, and she was so good to talk to. More than that, she also knew when to be quiet. She had allowed him to admire the Falls without overmuch chatter about delightful views, sublime scenes, poetic tropes and statements along the lines of Would that I had brought my crayons with me to fix the scene.
In short, it was like being with another man, with the advantage that she was very much a woman! When he had kissed her so suddenly she had not slapped daintily at him, or made a comic moue, or said something stupidly flirtatious and meaningless, but had accepted and returned his kisses without showing false shame or being brazen.
No, she was no longer plain Miss Hope, pretty Sophie’s homely cousin: it was Marietta whom he thought of when he was not with her, and, when he saw or heard of something interesting, it was she whom he wished was with him so that he might share it with her.
It was Marietta who kept him from Bella Dahlgren’s house, or from adventures with the pleasure-seeking ladies who made their desire for him plain, and with whom he might, at other times, have occupied himself.
I am becoming a monk, he thought with a grin, and I can imagine the Patriarch’s knowing look if he knew of my unlikely goings-on. Would he be surprised at my equally unlikely choice of someone to love? I think not, for he must have known that when the one true woman comes along she often comes unannounced—as he said Mother did.
So thinking, he tightened the hand which held Marietta’s, for since they were in Aunt Percival’s line of sight they needed to be discreet. He felt her hand responding to his since that was all that was allowed to them. Did she feel the same for him? Of course she did, because her sense of honour would not have allowed her to return his kisses unless she truly cared for him. Mere mindless flirtation was not a game Marietta would ever play—or had played.
Like Aunt Percival, Jack was right. From the moment she had walked into the parlour to find him waiting for Sophie, Marietta had known where her heart lay—and it was at Jack’s feet. He had only to enter a room for its whole atmosphere to change for her. Alan, who shared many traits with him, frightened her a little because he was so formidable, but Jack scored heavily because he was so approachable, so determinedly human.
I could not love Alan, only admire and fear him, but Jack…and then self-analysis stopped because in the end her body, as well as her mind, was informing her of its needs, and this was a new thing for the cool Miss Hope.
It was her hand now which tightened its grip on Jack’s. Her face which shone up at his and told him what he needed to know: that what he felt for her was reciprocated.
Aunt Percival, watching them come towards her, knew that, at last, her beloved charge had found someone to love and treasure her as she deserved.
Chapter Six
‘Uniforms! So many uniforms. There will shortly be no civilians left in Washington.’
‘Come, Sophie,’ said Marietta, ‘that is surely an exaggeration. Even here, in the Van Horns’ ballroom, there are still many men not in uniform.’
‘But they’re all so old,’ moaned Sophie. ‘There won’t be any young men left when the Army marches out.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Aunt Percival said, ‘it’s the young men who fight the wars, and the old men who stay behind to organise matters.’
‘Well, at least Jack won’t be whisked away in uniform,’ replied Sophie, looking about her. ‘He said that he would be here tonight: Senator Van Horn had invited him, but I haven’t seen him yet.’
‘Not surprising,’ said Marietta. ‘I’ve never seen such a crowd—even at the Van Horns’.’ The Senator and his wife were famous for the size and magnificence of their entertaining, but this surely beat everything. It simply bore out what her father had said earlier: that when the war began there would be more, not less, entertaining and excitement.
The small orchestra in the corner began to play a waltz and Sophie was soon whirled on to the floor by a succession of handsome young army officers. Marietta, as usual, sat herself down and prepared to be an interested spectator, not a participant in the gaiety.
She was not to remain a spectator for long. Avory Grant was crossing the floor to her. He was wearing the blue uniform of an officer in the Union Army, and he was smiling at her when he reached her.
‘Will you do me the honour of dancing this waltz with me, Marietta? For old times’ sake?’
She rose and offered him her hand, saying, ‘Since you put it so prettily, then certainly, sir.’
He laughed at that, transforming his face so that he looked young ag
ain. ‘I see that in my absence you have learned to flirt. You were a solemn young lady when last we met. What man has brought about this transformation?—one which I was unable to accomplish.’
Marietta blushed. It was Jack, of course, but she could hardly say so.
‘Oh, one changes as one grows older.’
‘True,’ he said, twirling her round the floor, ‘but you have changed very much for the better—which, you must confess, is rare.’
‘Now you are flirting with me, Avory. We have both changed for the better, I think, since the old days—if you will allow me to say so.’
His face changed. His smile disappeared. He looked grave. ‘Marietta,’ he said, ‘there is something which I ought to tell you. I would prefer you to hear it from me rather than from some gossiping old crow.’
He spun her off the floor and into a double doorway which led to a corridor before he stopped, to look seriously at her.
‘Has no one informed you of how my wife died?’
Marietta was for once at a loss. ‘No, Avory. Only that she had. Why?’
‘I thought that you might have heard,’ he said. ‘I forgot how long I have been living away from Washington, lost to the world I once knew. I have rarely corresponded with anyone. The occasion of her death was not a pretty one, and I must be the one to tell you of it.’
‘Oh, I am so sorry, Avory. Do not speak of it if it distresses you.’
‘No need to apologise, or be sorry. She died when the carriage in which she was eloping with her lover turned over. He was so crippled that he could not walk again: she was killed instantly. Sin is rarely punished so rapidly.’
His voice when he said this was unemotional, as though he were speaking of someone else’s tragedy. ‘Fortunately she did not take our daughter, Susanna, with her. My only grief in joining the Union Army is that I have had to leave her behind.’
Marietta had been imagining him happily married while she vegetated in spinsterhood. She wondered what their lives would have been like if she had married him.
‘I thought it best not to tell you on a ballroom floor, but I had to forestall others who might gossip unkindly to you,’ he added. ‘What’s past is past and regret is a useless emotion.’
He held out his hand to her. ‘Let us hope that the music has not stopped but, if it has, then I claim the next dance with you.’
The music had not stopped, and he swung her around as though their waltz had not been interrupted. Marietta thought that his story explained the change in his manner and appearance. He had been a light-hearted cheerful boy when she had known him. Now he was a serious man.
They ended their dance near to where Aunt Percival sat. She had been joined by Jack, who was obviously entertaining her since she was laughing—something which she did not often do.
Jack rose and offered Marietta his chair. His manner to her was faintly proprietorial in order to let this handsome young officer know of his interest in her.
If Avory noticed it, he made no sign. Marietta said easily, ‘Avory, I must present you to a new friend whom you just missed meeting at the Bazaar. May I introduce to you Mr Jack Dilhorne, who hails from New South Wales and is by way of being an expert in naval architecture? Mr Avory Grant,’ she explained to Jack who was busy, like Avory, in following society’s prescribed rules for a first meeting, ‘is an old friend of my youth who moved to the Carolinas on marriage.’
‘Not so much old, perhaps…’ Avory smiled ‘…as no longer young. Only in Washington, I suppose, could one meet someone from the Antipodes at one’s first social engagement.’
‘Oh, all the world makes for the States these days,’ Jack said, wondering exactly what Marietta meant by ‘old friend’ in this context. ‘You mentioned the Carolinas: a friend of mine from England is thinking of travelling there. He is interested in naval architecture, too. We heard today that their experimental iron-clad, the Merrimac, which was scuttled when the Norfolk Navy yard was attacked, has been raised from the sea bottom and is going to be rebuilt.’
‘True,’ said Avory, ‘but although I have lived in the South for the last ten years, my family home is near Washington and my heart is with the Union. My aunt has come back with me and will be settling at Grantstown with my little daughter for the duration of the war. I have left a factor behind to manage my Carolina estate.’
‘You must visit us before you leave for the war,’ Marietta told him. ‘My father will be pleased to see you again.’
‘And we must meet at Willard’s to celebrate another new friendship for me,’ Jack said. He wanted to know more about the handsome stranger who was looking at Marietta so admiringly.
‘Indeed,’ replied Avory, ‘although I fear that my stay in Washington may not be long.’ He bowed to them again. ‘You will excuse me, I trust; there are a number of my old friends present tonight and this may be the last occasion when I shall have the chance to meet them.’
‘He is greatly improved,’ said Aunt Percival thoughtfully, after Avory had left them. ‘He was, I remember, a callow young man, whose only notion was pleasure.’
‘Yes,’ said Marietta, ‘but tragedy has touched him.’ How to put it tactfully? ‘His wife died eighteen months ago, and I gather that the marriage was not a success.’
A widower, thought Jack: intuition told him that Avory Grant and Marietta had once been close.
Sophie’s return brought this line of conversation to an end. She had been giggling in the corner with some old friends of her own age, but had rushed back to be with dull Marietta and even duller Aunt Percival when she saw that not only were they entertaining Jack, but also another handsome man in uniform.
‘Was that Avory Grant with you?’ she exclaimed eagerly, rudely interrupting Aunt Percival who had begun to answer Marietta, for once ignoring Jack who had risen again on her arrival.
‘Really, Sophie,’ said Aunt Percival, ‘you are old enough to remember your manners. You are no longer a child. Pray do your duty to your cousin Marietta and Mr Dilhorne.’
‘Oh, pooh to that,’ said Sophie scornfully. ‘They can see perfectly well that I am here—and you haven’t answered my question.’
‘Yes, it was Mr Grant,’ said Marietta mildly, anxious to avoid yet another scene, and a public one, at that, with Sophie.
‘He looks divine in his blue uniform,’ breathed Sophie, rapt. ‘You might have kept him with you until I returned.’
Aunt Percival, less inclined to avoid a scene than Marietta, said severely, ‘Had you remained with us instead of running off and amusing yourself with heaven knows who, then you would have been here and would have been able to talk to him. As it is, you must remain content until he returns—or when he visits us, which he hopes will be soon.’
‘The sooner the better,’ announced Sophie gaily, not at all put down by this rebuke. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, Jack? I detest balls where I do nothing but sit around and watch others, don’t you?’
‘And what,’ asked Aunt Percival belligerently, when she had dragged Jack away, ‘could the poor man do after that but ask her to take the floor with him? I shan’t be happy until the time comes for her parents to reclaim her and take her home again.’
‘Nor I,’ sighed Marietta. ‘But I fear that we are saddled with her until the autumn. I never thought that she would be so unlike the rest of my cousins. It was a pleasure to look after them, but Sophie…’ She shrugged, not wishing to speak the unpalatable truth about her.
Jack had not heard this exchange but he, too, felt that he was saddled with Sophie. The more he had to do with her the less he liked her. He had meant to ask Marietta to dance the next dance with him, and here he was, being bored by Sophie’s constant and frivolous chatter, while Marietta sat alone.
But not, he saw, for long. Avory Grant had returned and she was on the floor with him—again. He would have a quiet word with Aunt Percival and try to discover whether Grant could be considered a rival. He was well aware that Aunt Percival approved of him—but would
she approve of Marietta’s old friend even more?
Sophie had been talking rapidly to him and was obviously expecting a reply. He really ought to pay attention to her. As usual she was complaining about something.
‘I thought that at least the war would be exciting once it had begun,’ she was saying petulantly, ‘but it is nearly as boring now it has come as it was when we endlessly talked about it coming. You must consider yourself lucky that you are not an American since, if you were, you would soon be in uniform and disappearing, hopefully not for good.’
‘On the other hand,’ Jack told her quietly, ‘it makes me feel guilty to know that I am safe when others are going to put themselves at risk for what they believe in.’
‘Goodness,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s not your war, is it? You ought to be glad you’re out of it.’
‘No,’ said Jack, still quiet, ‘it’s not, but I might yet play some part in it. The President has invited me to a meeting at the Capitol tomorrow which is to discuss what he calls “The Naval Question”. After that, who knows what I may be doing.’
All this was too much for Sophie. She hadn’t asked Jack to dance with her in order to discuss dull questions—even if it were President Lincoln asking them!
She yawned. ‘Goodness,’ she exclaimed again. ‘How serious we are getting! I hope that all balls aren’t going to be like this one. Perhaps when the war’s been going for a few months we shall forget it and find other things to talk about.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Jack, wondering how he could ever have been attracted to her. A few moments later, the dance over, she dragged him to where Avory Grant and Marietta were talking.
Jack took the opportunity to whisper to Marietta, ‘You will dance the next one with me, I hope.’
She looked at him, genuine disappointment written on her face. ‘Oh, dear, I shall have to refuse you. Charles Stanton is here and has already asked me. He leaves for the South in the morning, he says.’
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