How irritating, thought the sisters, that the waif should suddenly be hell-bent on marriage after having refused so many – and marriage to such an unsuitable man. They had had a few moments’ private discussion before Fiona appeared and had decided that Lord Peter must only be after the girl’s money. Effy had put it about society that Fiona was rich. Everyone knew that younger sons of dukes did not have much in the way of the ready. Lord Peter was rumoured to be rich, but that was probably a hum. It was important that a girl who had been so hurt, so humiliated, and so disgusted by the very idea of marriage should not find herself locked up in a loveless one. They had told Lord Peter that he should wait and get to know Fiona better and that they could not possibly give him their permission yet. Seeing the fury on his face, Effy unwisely said that Fiona was in complete agreement.
She had said to Amy, after Lord Peter had left, that Fiona might return to her aunt if she found out they were lying, but Amy remarked that Lord Peter was in such a towering rage that his vanity would not allow him to approach the girl again.
‘We did not send for you,’ said Effy, thinking rapidly how best to drive a wedge between the couple, ‘because Lord Peter did not propose. He came to apologize for his behaviour t’other night. Evidently he was too fast and too forward and feared he might have given you the wrong idea. He begs us to tell you that he was foxed.’
Fiona agonizingly remembered the taste of his mouth. There had been no flavour of drink at all.
She feared marriage and yet she was deeply hurt. Had she planned to refuse him? She could hardly do that after allowing such intimate caresses. But none of the warring emotions in her mind showed on her face. She gave a little shrug. ‘Perhaps I might accept the poet after all,’ she said, and turned and went back upstairs.
‘Now why have I got such a guilty conscience?’ said Amy.
‘I am sure we have done the right thing,’ said Effy firmly.
‘It’s all this worry about him being a rake,’ moaned Amy. ‘Is there any real proof?’
‘Mrs Vere-Cunningham says that he drove his carriage right into Hyde Park at the fashionable hour with no less than six demi reps screaming and ogling from it.’
‘When?’
‘Ten years ago.’
‘The follies of youth,’ mourned Amy. ‘We may be making a mistake. I am sure Fiona was upset.’
‘Nothing to worry about,’ said Effy. ‘She took it very well.’
It was truly amazing that both Lord Peter and Fiona managed to attend the Dunsters’ barge outing on the river. Fiona had planned to manufacture a headache and stay at home and Lord Peter had not meant to go anyway. Each was furious with the other. But when Thursday morning arrived, both Fiona and Lord Peter became consumed with a desire to tell the other how miserable, double-dealing and disgraceful the other’s behaviour had been.
Amy tried to persuade Mr Haddon to call on Lord Peter and steal the invitation card from his mantelpiece, but Mr Haddon replied firmly that in the first place he would not dream of doing such a thing, and in the second, Lord Peter had only to show his noble face to have himself admitted to the barge party, card or not.
Effy was not much help, thought Amy sourly. She was fluttering about in a day dream. Amy began to wonder if Effy had contracted a tendre for some secret and highly unsuitable lover. One of the servants? Harris? It was not impossible.
So Effy was the only happy member of the party that set out for the Thames. Lord and Lady Dunster’s barge had been in the family since the days when state barges were more the thing. It was a long monster of a boat painted black and gold. A striped awning fluttered over the decks and an orchestra played and the guests wandered to and fro as if in a drawing room rather than on a barge.
The first person Amy saw was Mr Desmond Callaghan. ‘Look at that snake,’ she whispered. Then she looked down at her simpering and blushing sister in surprise and growing alarm. ‘You didn’t, Effy,’ she exclaimed. ‘You couldn’t.’
‘Mr Callaghan apologized to me,’ said Effy fiercely. ‘If you interfere in this, Amy, I shall never speak to you again!’
‘I am not going to allow it,’ said Amy, breathing heavily. She seized her parasol and raised it like a club.
‘No, Miss Amy,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘You will not make a scene. Your sister must make her own mistakes. Behave yourself!’
Amy looked at him with her mouth open. Then her eyes began to glow with a soft light. To Fiona’s amazement, Amy said meekly, ‘Yes, Mr Haddon.’
‘Good girl,’ he said, patting her shoulder. ‘Let me find you a glass of ratafia.’
Despite her own worries, Fiona was tempted to giggle. There was something so funny about Amy’s lamblike meekness.
And then the smile died on her lips. Lord Peter Havard had arrived, accompanied by a large, burly man with a low forehead. Cully had decided to go along with his friend on the outing.
She turned away and joined Amy and Mr Haddon.
Lord Aubrey came up to Fiona and bent possessively over her hand. Her heart sank. She knew Lord Aubrey would not leave her side for the whole of the party.
Having no desire to cross swords with him, she behaved in a dull, miserable way and barely said a word, not knowing that, since Lord Aubrey only wanted an audience, he felt more than ever she was the lady of his dreams.
When the barge moved off, Fiona wondered why it did not sink under the sheer weight of people. It was just like Lord Aubrey’s party – a sad crush.
The day wore on, the lazy river chuckled under the boat, the sun shone down, and Fiona, trapped at Lord Aubrey’s side, felt wretched. Occasionally the crowd parted to give her a glimpse of Lord Peter, who was always flirting with some lady or other. At last she felt she could not bear it any longer and said to Lord Aubrey, ‘I beg your pardon. I must look for Miss Effy.’ And before he could offer to accompany her, she had edged deftly away through the crowd.
But before she could get anywhere near Lord Peter, the barge slid into a mooring. The Dunsters were calling to their guests to go on shore. The shore turned out to be the lawns of a large riverside house. Long tables had been placed on the lawns, and, chattering with delight, the guests disembarked.
Fiona noticed there were little gilt cards with names on them in front of each place. There would be no chance of telling Lord Peter what she thought of him. Sponsored by the Tribbles she might be, but she was well below Lord Peter in rank. She found herself separated from the Tribbles as well. Her place was at one of the tables near the water on the sloping lawn, the more important in rank taking the tables near the house. It was small consolation to find that Lord Aubrey was seated far away from her as well.
Her companions were two middle-aged men; one on her right who concentrated on his food, and one on her left who spoke about hunting through the whole dreary meal.
The headache Fiona had been planning to pretend to have was now a reality. She breathed a sigh of relief when the long meal came to an end and the guests were urged to take a stroll in the gardens.
Effy walked off on Mr Callaghan’s arm. He was looking for a secluded spot in which to propose marriage, although he hoped somehow to get Effy’s money and jewels without marriage. He felt sure, however, that if he proposed marriage, Effy would do anything he wanted. He led her away to an uncultivated part of the garden along by the river where there was a pleasant walk. To his delight, he saw a rustic bench by the shore and begged Effy to be seated.
‘Before I say what is in my heart, Miss Effy,’ said Mr Callaghan, ‘I must tell you the truth. I am a poor man. I have nothing to offer you but myself. I am ashamed. What it is to be poor!’
‘I know,’ said Effy softly. ‘Amy and I found ourselves in the same predicament when Mrs Cutworth died. We had been poor for so long and, well – it sounds so awful, so mercenary – but we could not help hoping she would leave us a fortune in her will. But she left everything to you, and that everything proved to be nothing but debts. Poor us. Poor Mr Callaghan. Had it not been for Amy’
s idea to advertise ourselves as chaperones, we should have been in dire straits.’
‘Come, come,’ teased Mr Callaghan, ‘you cannot tell me that being mere chaperones should bring about such a dramatic change in your fortunes.’
Effy’s mouth curved in a reminiscent smile. ‘Oh, it seemed like a magical happening. We were sponsoring Lady Baronsheath’s daughter, Felicity. Lord Ravenswood, who married her, you know, befriended us from the first moment we met. We were anxious that Felicity, as our first ‘‘job’’, should not see how poorly we lived. Lord Baronsheath sent word to his servants in London to take up residence in Holles Place before Felicity’s arrival and to decorate the house with the best pieces of his furniture and portraits of his ancestors. Then, when he married, not only did Lady Baronsheath give us a most generous bonus, but Lord Ravenswood gave us a present as well. I am so glad we have a new lady to sponsor, for what with the expense of managing a London house and servants, we were running out of money again. It is a precarious life and one which suits Amy very well, but I shall be so happy to settle down and never have to worry again.’ She looked at him shyly. ‘I always thought it would be hard to live in the country in genteel poverty, but with you, Mr Callaghan, I could bear any hardship.’
He looked at her, astounded. ‘But surely Mrs Cutworth gave you money and jewels before she died!’
‘Nothing,’ said Effy. ‘She did not really have any money to speak of, although, like you, we did not find that out until after she died.’ She shook her head sadly.
‘Do you mean,’ said Mr Callaghan in a thin voice, ‘that you are solely dependent on your work for an income?’
‘But yes! Of course!’ Effy wondered whether to tell him about the small annual amount she and Effy received from a family trust but decided it was too trifling a sum to mention.
The fact that the Tribbles had not tricked him out of anything belonging to Mrs Cutworth should have restored Mr Callaghan’s faith in the human race in general and in the Tribble sisters in particular. But he felt cheated. He felt that Effy had led him on, had lied to him.
His highly painted face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and rouge began to stain the points of his shirt collar.
‘But what is money to such as we?’ said Effy gaily, rapping the sleeve of his coat with her fan.
‘Money means a great deal,’ he said coldly.
‘But lovers such as we have no need of such mundane things as money,’ cried Effy.
‘Lovers? What are you talking about?’ said Mr Callaghan. ‘How could such as we be lovers – a young man and an old spinster?’
Effy shrank back on the bench as if she had been struck.
‘Yes, old spinster,’ he repeated viciously. ‘Your wits must be wandering, ma’am. You have mistaken a young man’s courtesy to an elderly lady. Good day to you!’
As he walked away, Effy began to cry.
Fiona wandered away from the chattering crowds. She did not want to see Lord Peter. She only wanted to be alone and find some shady spot in which to sit down.
Effy had moved away from the rustic bench into the trees to hide her grief and humiliation. Fiona sat down and drew patterns in the dust at her feet with the point of her parasol. She then drew Lord Peter Havard and sliced his head off. That made her feel better. The pain at her temples began to go away. The air was warm and a light breeze moved the young leaves of the trees above her head.
A shadow fell across her and she looked up. Lord Peter stood over her. The soft earth of the path had muffled his footsteps.
‘What do you want?’ asked Fiona.
‘I want the luxury of telling you what I think of you,’ he said in a calm voice that belied his fury. ‘You allowed me to kiss you, so that you might have the pleasure of turning me down. Oh, I know the Misses Tribbles told me very pleasantly that you were not ready for marriage and they could not give their permission, but they are only rented chaperones and would never have stood in your way had you been willing!’
‘I don’t understand you,’ said Fiona, looking dazed. ‘They told me you had come merely to apologize for your bad behaviour and to say that you were foxed.’
He stared at her blankly and then sat down beside her. ‘Do you want to marry me?’ he asked.
Fiona felt a tumult of mixed emotions – elation, excitement, relief, and fear. She was afraid of marriage. She dreaded finding herself locked in a marriage full of rows and scenes and bitter recriminations. What if he regretted marrying the daughter of a tradesman? But his eyes were so very blue and steady and serious. She took a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Then I shall not speak to the Tribbles again. I shall speak to your aunt and uncle.’
‘Alas, they will not give their permission. They were anxious that the Tribbles find me someone outside the aristocracy.’
‘I can be very persuasive,’ he said. ‘I shall reverse the normal procedure – a proper proposal to you first and permission from your aunt and uncle afterwards. Do not tell the Tribbles about this. For some mad reason of theirs, they do not consider me suitable either.’
He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and put it on the ground and then knelt on one knee in front of her.
Amy was supremely happy. Although Mr Haddon had gone off to speak to some friends, she was content to sit in the sunshine and enjoy the soporific effects of too much food and wine. The Dunsters had asked her to sing to the guests on the barge going home. She smiled to herself as she anticipated the sound of the applause. She had even stopped worrying about Effy. Her sister’s friendship with Mr Callaghan would normally have infuriated Amy, but her new-found success made everything else seem of little significance – except Mr Haddon, of course, and he would admire her the more, the more in demand she became. Mr Haddon had not found the courage to tell Amy she was making a fool of herself.
Amy was sitting in the sun with her back to the long French windows of the drawing room. From inside came the chatter of the guests who had gone to tour the house and to look at Lord Dunster’s collection of miniatures.
And then Amy heard Lady Dunster’s voice very clearly. Lord Dunster was slightly deaf, and so Lady Dunster always spoke in a very loud and carrying voice. ‘I have a treat for all of you when we set sail again,’ boomed Lady Dunster. ‘I have asked Miss Amy Tribble to entertain the guests.’
This was greeted with loud cheers and laughter. Although the guests inside were unaware that Amy was outside listening, she smiled modestly and looked down.
Then a woman said, ‘Miss Amy is an Original. I declare I never laughed so hard in my life as when I heard her sing the other night.’
The listening Amy stiffened and frowned. But there was worse to come. A man’s voice said, ‘Isn’t she marvellous? She sings like a crow with a sore throat, and that poor piano player was fighting his way up and down the keys trying to find a note to match that horrible voice.’
Another man said, ‘I do not think there is one note in the music scale, either Chinese or English, that Miss Amy Tribble could hit. My dear Lady Dunster, how are we to keep our faces straight? How are we to stop dying of laughter?’
With dreadful clarity, Lady Dunster said, ‘But, my dears! When Miss Amy sings, she is quite oblivious to anything and everything. Laugh as much as you like!’
Amy got up slowly. She felt very old and stiff. She moved across the lawns as if on stilts. A few people hailed her, but she stared at them blindly. She blundered off into the uncultivated bit of the garden, bumping into trees and bushes, desperate to put as much distance as possible between herself and those ugly, mocking voices.
Hot tears began to course down her cheeks. She had never felt quite so old, homely, and unloved. Perhaps Mr Haddon had been secretly laughing at her as well.
She bumped into the weeping figure of her sister, Effy. Amy stopped short and scrubbed her eyes with her glove.
‘What’s the matter?’ demanded Amy harshly.
‘It . . . it’s Mr Callaghan,’ sobbed Effy.
Amy’s humiliation was temporarily forgotten. ‘That snake!’ she cried. ‘Where is he? What has he done?’
‘He’s gone,’ said Effy in a small voice. ‘I’ve been wicked, Amy . . . an old fool. He courted me because he thought I had money, just the same way as he made a fool out of Auntie.’
Amy put her arms round her sister and hugged her close. ‘Don’t cry, Effy,’ she said. ‘I am as foolish as you. I . . . oh, Lor’!’
She broke off in consternation. As she hugged Effy’s slight figure, she had been looking over her shoulder. There at the water’s edge was a pretty tableau. Lord Peter Havard was just getting down on one knee in front of Fiona Macleod.
‘We must stop them!’ cried Amy. She swung Effy around and pointed.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Effy. Both sisters thought the same thing at once. The Burgesses would be furious. The Burgesses would say they had failed. With amazing speed and agility, Effy sped straight for the River Thames and along the fallen trunk of a tree that overhung the water. Holding her nose firmly, she jumped in, a thing she would normally never have dreamt of doing but she had been shaken out of her wits by Mr Callaghan.
‘Help!’ screamed Effy. ‘I can’t swim.’
Breathless with admiration for her sister’s quick-wittedness, Amy ran to the water’s edge. ‘Save her. Save my sister,’ she called to Lord Peter.
Lord Peter sighed. ‘Excuse me, my love,’ he said to Fiona.
He marched into the river. The water did not even cover the top of his Hessian boots. He reached forward and picked up the sodden bundle that was Effy Tribble by the scruff of her neck, lifting her clean out of the deeper part of the river and dumping her on the bank.
‘How good of you to save her,’ said Amy.
Effy sat up, shivering.
‘Can you tell me why Miss Effy should decide to throw herself in the river?’ said Lord Peter, eyeing both sisters cynically.
‘Yes, why?’ came Mr Haddon’s voice as the nabob hurried towards the group.
Amy looked wildly at Effy and Effy stared in consternation at Amy. If Lord Peter had not yet had a chance to propose, then there was still hope. Effy thought of the terrible Mr Callaghan.
Perfecting Fiona Page 10