Maria was enjoying the change in her role with her parents. Now it was she who was passing on all her knowledge and training that she had learned from dancing masters and deportment mistresses and governesses. But deep inside her was a niggling sorrow that neither the duke nor Beau had called. Amy had not told her that all callers other than Mr Randolph or Mr Haddon had been refused admittance.
When the dancing was over, Mr Kendall received further instruction in important matters such as how to open a snuff-box with one hand, how to carry a quizzing-glass, how to hold a muff, how to make calls, how not to mention the price of everything, and how to remain silent on all subjects he knew nothing about. Mrs Kendall had to work on her curtsy, put most of her jewellery back in the jewel box, and learn the novelty of changing her linen at least once a week instead of once every three months. Amy found to her distress that she was beginning to like the Kendalls immensely and the fact that they trusted her to see that Maria did marry the duke after all felt like a heavy burden on her shoulders. She was so intent on schooling them that she did not have much time for Yvette and baby George.
Yvette was beginning to feel ill-used for the first time. Usually after she had remodelled the wardrobe of whatever charge the sisters had taken on, she could manage to take things easier. But now she had Mrs Kendall’s gowns to cope with and designing and stitching for a very large woman meant hours of sewing.
She would have found her life very hard indeed had not Mr and Mrs Kendall begun to find her little sewing room a refuge from the terrors of fashionable schooling. They were sorry for Yvette and adored her baby. Mr Kendall bought George a splendid baby carriage made of cane and lined with blue silk and he and Mrs Kendall delighted in taking the baby to the Park. In her way, it was Yvette who did more to encourage them to go on with their schooling than Amy or Effy. She would sit and stitch and say in her practical way that society was hard and one had to know the rules and play the game. It was of no use pointing out that Amy Tribble had a coarse tongue, for everyone knew the Tribbles were good ton and once you had become accepted, then nothing you could do could make you unacceptable unless of course you were a virgin who erred or a wife who paraded her affairs.
Slowly the schooling began to take effect. Although the Kendalls might still be coarse inside, they had quickly learned to remain silent. Mrs Kendall began to present a fashionable appearance, and when Mr Kendall’s new clothes arrived from the tailor, Amy decided it was time to break their seclusion.
Amy went out on calls around her friends looking for a suitable occasion to launch her new charges, an occasion where the duke would be present.
At last she arranged with Mrs Marriot that a fête champêtre in the Surrey fields would be just the thing, provided the recent good weather held. Amy decided to take a gamble and gave Mrs Marriot money towards the expense, enlisting that lady’s help in seeing that the Kendalls did not disgrace themselves.
Maria was more nervous than her parents when the day of the fête arrived. For the first time in her life, she was on easy terms with them. ‘Don’t know how you put up with all this, Maria,’ her father would groan after an exhausting afternoon in which Mr Randolph, who had been press-ganged into helping, had given him instruction of how to raise his hat, how to wear it at exactly the right angle, and how to carry a bicorne, that collapsible hat, under his arm when wearing full dress.
The day dawned sunny and pleasant, a rare occurrence as the freakish English weather seemed to delight in breaking on the very day some society hostess had planned an outdoor event.
They made their way to the Surrey side in open carriages. Mrs Kendall was glad she was allowed to wear one of the new Leghorn straw hats, for the Tribbles had forbidden her to carry a parasol until she learned the proper use of it. This quite bewildered Mrs Kendall, who had previously thought one used it simply to keep the sun off one’s face, but it now appeared it could be a deadly social weapon, lowered or dipped at just the right angle to depress the attentions of the pretentious or twirled occasionally to show off the silk covering. She was told to remember her fan must always be carried by the end, which had to be pinched between the fingers, and on no account to open it until such time as the sisters were able to teach her the intricate language of the fan.
‘Cannot I use it just to keep cool?’ Mrs Kendall had protested, but it seemed the fan was one of those originally useful things, like a quizzing-glass or walking-stick, that had acquired a whole list of dos and don’ts.
Maria was wearing a white muslin morning gown with a blue sprig and a pelisse of pale-blue sarsenet. Her wide-brimmed straw hat was lined with blue satin, and blue satin streamers fell from the crown and down her back. She kept wondering if the duke would be there and wondering nervously what he would think of her parents, yet she was determined to snub him should he show them any coldness. Mr and Mrs Kendall had been instructed to keep out of the duke’s way, should he put in an appearance, as much as possible. They were doing very nicely, Amy had said, but they had a long road to travel.
To Maria, they were still the old parents and she could not see much change in them apart from their new easy manner towards herself. But Mr Haddon, who was travelling with them, thought there was a marked change. Mrs Kendall in wine-coloured silk looked a plump and dignified figure, and Mr Kendall in a well-fitting coat, pantaloons and Hessian boots looked like a gentleman for the first time.
Maria’s dream lovers had come between her and the duke and she had almost forgotten what he looked like. When she set eyes on him as they alighted from the carriages she was startled to find he was so very handsome. For his part, the duke felt a lifting of his spirits when he saw Maria. At first he did not recognize the couple with her as the Kendalls of Bath, and when he did, he began to wonder if he had been too hard on them. They were so quiet, so sedate, and so impeccably dressed that he could not quite believe they were the same people.
He asked Maria to walk with him for a little. Maria glanced up at his profile and made up her mind. The engagement had to be broken. There was no point in playing silly games and waiting for him to show some softer feeling. He never would. She doubted if he would ever be capable of romantic feelings towards any woman.
‘I am glad of this opportunity to speak to you,’ said Maria.
‘You would have had plenty of opportunities to speak to me had you granted me audience,’ he said. ‘I became quite weary of being told that you were not at home.’
‘No one told me you had called.’
He looked down at her in surprise and was all at once furious with the Tribbles until he reminded himself that he had offered them money to turn Maria against him.
‘What is it you wish to say?’ he asked curiously.
‘If you will remember, I promised you that if you took my parents in dislike, then I would release you from the engagement.’
‘Yes, I do remember.’
‘Then you are free, sir. Perhaps your secretary would be so good as to send an announcement to the newspapers to the effect that the engagement has been ended.’
It was what he had wanted . . . was it not?
And yet he had so much to tell her. He had wanted to show her the architect’s plans for that village. He had wanted her to drive out with him and inspect the site. No one else was interested. His agent was sulky and his mother thought he was mad. His friends said that coddling the poor would start a revolution, and it was courting disaster not to keep them in their proper places.
‘I did not say I disliked your parents,’ he said stiffly.
‘But you implied you found your visit ridiculous.’
‘As you did when I told you of it.’ She looked cool and pretty. A warm breeze was blowing across the field. An errant tendril of hair blew across her cheek.
Maria dug the point of her parasol into the grass and twisted it. ‘So shall we say it is at an end?’ she said.
‘Walk a little with me.’ The duke took her arm. He felt hurt. It was what he was sure he had wanted, a
nd yet he felt hurt. ‘Perhaps we should leave it a little. Your parents must be enjoying their visit. Would it not be kind to leave our announcement until later?’
‘How much later?’
They had walked over a rise and the rest of the guests were hidden from view. ‘Just for a little,’ he said. ‘Besides, I wanted to show you the site I have chosen for my model village.’ He gave an awkward laugh. ‘My friends tell me I have run mad and I dearly need someone to share my enthusiasm.’
‘Very well.’ Oh, why did she sound so reluctant, thought the duke crossly. ‘Where is it?’
‘South of Bethnal Green. Beyond Jews Walk, there is Bonners Hall, and beyond that, open land which I have purchased.’
‘I would like to see it,’ said Maria.
‘Perhaps I could take you there tomorrow?’
‘You must ask my parents’ permission.’
‘I shall do that.’
They walked on in silence.
‘Who are these lovers of yours?’ he asked abruptly.
Maria coloured angrily. ‘I have no lovers, sir.’
‘You told me you had been in love many times.’
‘Oh!’ Maria looked up at him shyly. ‘Dream lovers, that is all. Every young girl has romantic dreams.’
What a splendid day it was, thought the duke. He had really never before noticed what a jolly place the English countryside was. He thought quickly. If Maria’s parents knew he was going to take her out driving as far as Bethnal Green, then they might say they would come, too, or they might insist she took her maid.
‘I do not want to be on bad terms with your parents,’ he said. ‘They might be like my friends and disapprove of my plans. I shall simply tell them I am taking you for a little drive without saying where.’
‘I think they would approve of your plans,’ said Maria, ‘but, if you wish, I shall let them think we are going to the Park. We have walked a long way from the other guests. Do you not think we should turn back?’
He obediently turned around. Maria was very conscious of the pressure of his arm. She kept remembering that kiss at the inn. Some imp prompted her to say, ‘I wonder who I shall marry. Can you recommend anyone?’
‘With your face and fortune, you may have your pick,’ he said sourly.
‘A merchant or some man of the professional class?’
He did not reply. He seemed to retreat into himself. Maria longed to make him smile at her again. ‘How is Betty?’ she asked.
‘Betty?’
‘The woman with the baby in John Street.’
A flash of amusement lit the duke’s eyes. ‘Betty was taken to the country by my reluctant agent. She has settled in very well but affects grand London airs and says loudly she is not accustomed to the company of peasants.’
‘I am sure that cannot be true,’ said Maria. ‘Your agent does not like the extra work and therefore is telling you tall stories.’
‘I believe him. He does not like hard work, I agree, but I know him to be honest.’
Maria walked on in silence, her face averted. ‘What did you expect?’ he teased. ‘A humble and grateful Betty? Roses round the door and love in a cottage? Endless gratitude?’
That was just what Maria did expect. ‘The poor are not always worthy,’ he went on. ‘How can they be? Their minds and bodies have been warped for so long.’
‘Then why take the trouble?’ demanded Maria.
He looked surprised. ‘It is my duty. A duty I am grateful to you for bringing to my notice.’
‘A duty? Did no pity move you? No warmer feelings?’
‘I cannot indulge in pity or warmer feelings, or the sights of London would break my heart. Come, Miss Kendall, what would you have? Were my emotions involved, then I should spend my life being bitterly disappointed when my charitable efforts were met with sullen ingratitude. I am realistic.’
‘And not romantic?’
‘I do not waste my time in idle fancies.’
But as they approached the guests and Beau strolled up towards them, his blue eyes dancing with pleasure at the sight of Maria, the duke mentally picked up Beau, carried him by the seat of the trousers across the field and dumped him face-down in a cow pat.
He moved off to talk to the other guests and did not notice that Frederica Sunningdale had joined Beau and Maria and that Beau seemed more interested in Frederica than in Miss Kendall.
The duke approached the Kendalls and bowed. Mrs Kendall dropped a correct curtsy and Mr Kendall gave a stately bow in return.
The duke said the weather was fine and the Kendalls murmured their agreement. He said Maria was looking very attractive and both smiled and nodded. Intrigued by this change in the normally garrulous Kendalls, he was about to see if he could extract some speech from them when Amy Tribble appeared on one side of him and Mr Haddon on the other. Amy pointed with her parasol away from the Kendalls and said the champagne was about to be served. The duke turned and looked as well, and when he turned back, the Kendalls had disappeared into the crowd.
‘I was going to ask the Kendalls’ permission to take Miss Maria driving tomorrow,’ he said to Amy.
‘You may have my permission,’ replied Amy, ‘although I think you should leave the girl alone. This is not the way to encourage her to break the engagement.’
‘It is one way to give her social consequence which will stand her in good stead once the engagement is over,’ he pointed out.
‘A very true if smug remark,’ said the irrepressible Amy.
He wanted to join Maria again but she was surrounded by a group of courtiers. One was holding her parasol over her head, a second was holding her fan, and a third was offering a glass of champagne to her. He stood and watched her. She did not once look in his direction. He turned away and began to flirt easily with several of the young misses who were present so that his entourage might rival Maria’s, but every time he looked across at her, she was laughing at something someone had said and appeared to have forgotten he was at the party.
She would not be allowed to behave so once they were married, he thought. Then he remembered they were not to be married, that he had offered the Tribbles money to see that they should never be married, and that Maria herself was eager to break the engagement. At this, he thought the party a cursed flat affair, damned the Season as a load of silly frippery and heartily wished the whole business were over and done with.
7
Leisured society is full of people who spend a great part of their lives in flirtation and conceal nothing but the humiliating secret that they have never gone any further.
George Bernard Shaw
‘Now, sister,’ said Amy sternly, ‘when Berham comes to call, do not looked pleased to see him.’
‘But, why?’ wailed Effy. ‘There was a point yesterday when I thought they would suit very well. Surely only Maria would take an interest in those charitable schemes of his. Any lady of the ton would consider it a waste of money.’
‘We did not consider it a waste of money when we were so very poor and Mr Haddon gave us coal.’
‘That was a present,’ said Effy huffily. ‘No lady accepts charity.’
‘Which is why so many of them starve and leave a household of fat servants behind when they die,’ said Amy roundly. ‘If Berham thinks we’re all eager to see him marry Maria, then he will turn cool. The Kendalls will be out with baby George when he calls – I have seen to that. They did very nicely yesterday.’
‘So sweet the way they dote on that baby.’
‘George is a darling.’ Amy suffered a pang of conscience. Yvette had so much work to do – too much. She eased her conscience by promising herself to see to it that once Mrs Kendall’s gowns were completed, Yvette should have several weeks free.
‘If you say so, I shall be cool to Berham,’ said Effy, standing on tiptoe to look in the mirror and adjust one of her many gauze shawls about her neck. ‘But I have been thinking, Amy. If Maria does not wish to marry him, then we stand to gain a great deal o
f money from Berham and we could take a little rest. We could perhaps have next Season all to ourselves.’
‘Won’t do,’ said Amy. ‘London eats money. And we must start putting something by for our old age. Mind you, we already are old.’
‘You may be, sister, but I am in my prime.’
‘We are twins – or had you forgot.’
‘Age is all in the mind.’
‘Fiddle,’ said Amy crossly. ‘Age at this moment has settled in the small of my back and it aches like the devil.’
Effy tweaked a curl and eyed her sister speculatively. She herself was suffering from back pains, strange heat, and swollen ankles. She was frightened to send for the physician, for he would bleed her and leave her feeling weak. Perhaps she should discuss her symptoms with Amy. But Amy had that wretched diamond brooch back again, pinned on the front of her gown, and jealousy decided Effy against confessing any weakness to her sister.
While Effy and Amy prepared for the duke’s call, Mr and Mrs Kendall put George in his new perambulator and headed for the Park. ‘You know,’ said Mr Kendall, ‘I’m blessed if there ain’t a prime piece of business under our noses.
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Mrs Kendall looked fondly down at George, who was clutching a toy soldier firmly in one chubby hand.
‘That Yvette. See here, how many ladies complimented you on your gown yesterday? Lots. Did any of those grand folk in Bath ever say a word about your dress? Never. When I think what a mint one pays dressmakers in Bath. Imagine what a really good one could earn in London.’
George gleefully threw his soldier in the direction of a dowager and Mrs Kendall clucked fondly as she retrieved it, trying for the dowager’s sake to pretend she was angry with George and not succeeding very well. ‘Do you mean you are going into the dressmaking business, Mr Kendall?’ she asked.
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