‘Yes, Mama.’
Felicity clasped her hands together and hugged them under her chin.
‘Oh, I can hardly wait to be back in Glasgow to tell everyone. Can’t you just see their faces? They will be ill with envy. Absolutely ill!’
Next day they rode through the park. Then there was the shopping expedition, and the thrill of the teeming London streets viewed from the luxurious safety of the Fitzjames carriage. Then the immediate preparations for the ball and the heady excitement of the occasion itself.
Amidst all this, Gunnet and the incredible journey from Glasgow were swept further and further away.
The ball was so breathtaking in its grandeur that Augusta at last felt liberated from her secret nightmare. The nightmare was conquered by fashionable gowns shimmering all around, blinding her, enclosing her in the magic of a rainbow. It was chased like a shadow by blazing jewellery and chandeliers bright as stars. It was charmed away by elegant, attentive gentlemen, and none more elegant or attentive than her own Lieutenant Fitzjames. It was swirled to airy nothing in his arms, to the lilt of a Strauss waltz.
By the time the ball was over and she had returned to the privacy of her bedroom at Fitzjames Hall, she was as excited as her mother. The only thing that clung from her recent experiences was a sensuous stirring, a glow, an awareness of pleasures she had never known existed before. But without allowing the coachman to take shape and defile even the vaguest part of her mind, her instincts rushed in to assure her that this was part of what marriage would mean. Already the lieutenant had stolen quite a few kisses but they had been politely restrained, formal. This was the conduct most befitting to a gentleman. He had kissed her hand, her brow, her cheeks, even her lips, and she had reacted with appropriate degrees of coyness and modesty. A gentle, respectful and affectionate relationship developed between them that was a great comfort to Augusta.
Gradually she also established some sort of rapport with Mrs Fitzjames and if not open admiration and esteem at least a probationary acceptance. This was indicated by the fact that when the visit came to an end and they were bidding their goodbyes, the limp hands were once again offered to Mr and Mrs Cameron but Mrs Fitzjames honoured Augusta by bestowing on her a kiss on the cheek, a cold, fleeting kiss but a kiss nevertheless.
The rows of footmen were once again standing to attention as they approached the Cameron coach and one of them helped the ladies to climb in before bowing and backing away.
‘You lucky girl!’ her mother cried ecstatically as the coach clattered off. ‘Oh, aren’t you a lucky girl, Augusta?’
‘Yes, Mama,’ she said. And she was truly grateful.
Chapter Six
Felicity fluttered among her guests like a butterfly in a flower garden. The drawing-room was a tableau of colour. Mrs Laidlaw-Smythe looked magnificent in gold silk brocade trimmed with black. Her hair was drawn severely up from her imperious face and knotted on top of her head, and she held her lorgnette constantly at the ready. Her daughter Polly cringed nearby in coffee-coloured silk, with layers of cream frills that tried to cover her lack of bosom.
Plump Mrs Binny wore turquoise silk, and her daughters Mary and Fay sat close together looking like sweet peas in heliotrope taffeta and yellow satin. Even Miss Ina Fotheringham and her twin sister Kate, gaunt, sour-faced spinsters, looked rather fetching in their gowns of eau-de-nil muslin and sherry-coloured velvet.
They all were drinking tea from fragile, fluted cups, while the gentlemen of the company were still in the dining room enjoying brandy and cigars.
It had been a triumph of an evening. The cook had surpassed herself with the dinner, but quite apart from the food it had been most delectable to discuss Augusta’s forthcoming marriage. The ladies politely smiled and made appropriate murmurs, but they were ill with envy and struggled bravely to conceal it. Augusta couldn’t help admiring them for accepting her mother’s invitation in the first place and subjecting themselves to the torture of hearing all about the grandeurs of the Fitzjames way of life; to sit through the whole evening and manage with tolerable success to cling to dignity and decorum was truly remarkable of them in the circumstances.
Certainly Felicity Cameron’s delirious joy and delight must be a sore trial to her guests. She looked so light-hearted it would have surprised no one if the diminutive figure in the gown of rose pink silk had suddenly taken flight and soared up to the ceiling. Her ringlets bounced this way and that as she sought to make absolutely certain that each of the ladies had everything provided.
‘Mercy upon us, Miss Fotheringham, your cup is nearly empty. McPherson, attend to Miss Fotheringham at once!’
‘You are too kind.’ Ina Fotheringham’s tight mouth somehow tugged into a smile.
‘Mercy! Are you quite comfortable there, Harriet? McPherson, bring another cushion for Mrs Laidlaw-Smythe.’
Murder glinted from Mrs Laidlaw-Smythe’s lorgnette but her voice retained its polite Edinburgh accent. ‘I am perfectly comfortable, Felicity. I do not believe in cushions. They are not conducive to a good straight back.’
‘You are right, of course. I am such a simple soul I tend to stray from these excellent edicts. Shall I take poor Polly’s cushion away, dear?’
Polly who had almost folded up into the cushions sprang back before her mother could fix a furious lorgnette upon her.
‘There is no need, Felicity,’ said Mrs Laidlaw-Smythe. ‘Polly simply ignores what she has no wish for. The men that girl could have had! But she is just not interested.’
‘Such a pity,’ sympathised Mrs Cameron. ‘I’m so thankful Augusta accepted the dear lieutenant’s offer. Did I tell you that the Fitzjameses have a country seat too? Such acres and acres of land as far as the eye can see. Mr Cameron will want to go there for the hunting, of course, but I prefer the delights of London. The theatre, the opera, the magnificent shops. Such clothes you just would not believe. Oh, mercy, what fashions! We have nothing like that here. Mrs Fitzjames insisted that I come to visit as often as the fancy takes me.’ Felicity patted her ringlets. ‘Such a charming woman. And, of course, they all adored dear Augusta and went into such raptures about how exquisite she looked, and how well-bred and virtuous she was.’
Indeed Augusta at that moment looked very pretty with the crown of tiny flowers perched on top of her golden ringlets, and a virgin white dress flattering her rose-petal skin and bright eyes.
Mrs Binny, purple with both fury and heat, flapped her fan energetically in front of her dumpling face.
‘Dear Mrs Binny,’ Felicity cried, ‘you are suffering from the heat. McPherson, help Binny to a seat further from the fire. Mercy, I know only too well what it is to suffer from heat. At the grand ball the Fitzjameses gave to celebrate Augusta’s engagement of marriage to their dear son, I danced so much and the enormous ballroom was so crowded there were times when I thought I was going to faint. Of course, it was not only the heat, as you can imagine, it was all the excitement too. Why, there were so many lords and ladies there I felt quite flustered. And of course they all remarked on what a delightful match the happy pair made . . . .’
Remembering the ball and the thrill and splendour of London, thinking of how she was actually soon to belong to that magnificent world of which her mother had been chattering at such length, made Augusta feel delightfully happy. In fact, Felicity Cameron’s joy transported them both into a euphoria which lasted for days after the dinner party. It was only spoiled by vague feelings of malaise that gradually created an irritation of temper that Augusta could not control.
At breakfast one morning while her mama was chattering blissfully, a wave of physical nausea made her cry out in distress.
‘Oh, Mama, will you stop going on so! You are making me feel quite ill with nervous excitement.’
Felicity was struck dumb with astonishment at her daughter’s unaccustomed impertinence, and before she could recover speech Augusta had pushed back her plate and rushed from the dining-room.
Upstairs, Augusta wrung he
r hands in irritation and regret. But it had been impossible to hold her emotions in check. Now it was becoming more difficult to control the waves of nausea that were threatening to engulf her. Suddenly she pattered across the room to the wash-stand which held the pottery bowl and jug. Just in time she removed the jug before vomiting into the bowl. Then she leaned against the wall as cold perspiration forced its way like pins and needles through her pores. She felt weak and drained. It really was too bad of Mama to upset her like this. Averting her face from the revolting contents of the bowl she went to the bell-pull to summon the maid.
When Tibs came hurrying into the room, Augusta pointed to the bowl. ‘Take that away, please, and see that it’s cleaned properly before you bring it back.’
‘Yes, mistress.’ Tibs gave a quick little bob before rushing to do as she was told.
After she had gone, Augusta lay down on the bed for a few minutes to make certain she had recovered properly before returning downstairs. She would have to apologise profusely to her mother. She was ashamed at her most regrettable lack of control. At last she felt strong enough to get up. Smoothing down her slate-blue dress and straightening the flat white collar that covered her shoulders, she tipped up her head and in a determined effort to retain her dignity swished from the room.
Chapter Seven
‘The problem is space,’ sighed Felicity. ‘When Mrs Laidlaw-Smythe and Polly come through to the wedding they will just have to share a room.’
‘I suppose we must invite them?’ murmured Augusta. She was still feeling far from well. On several occasions during the past few days the sickness had returned to distress her, though she had not mentioned it to her mother.
‘Of course, dear. Harriet is one of my oldest friends.’ Studying the guest list, Felicity nibbled the end of her pen before continuing. ‘You see, there’s Mr and Mrs Loudon from Inverness. We will need a bedroom for them.’
‘Oh, Mama, we hardly know them. I thought you didn’t even like Mrs Loudon.’
‘Mercy, of course I don’t like her, dear. She’s a most obnoxiously vain peacock of a woman. I’d love to have seen her face when she read my letter of invitation. I told her all about the Fitzjameses, of course.’
In the silence that followed Augusta willed herself not to succumb to the strange giddiness that was now besetting her. With at least outward calm she continued to stitch at her embroidery. The parlour seemed hot and airless. Tibs had built up the fire and the light from it was jerking the room about. Augusta blinked then raised her head to aim an eye-stretching stare at the painting on the wall opposite. She willed herself to keep the picture in view, to use it to steady herself. But even as she watched it, the painting rippled and distorted as if she was viewing it through a running brook. Then it flew away into nothing.
The next thing she was aware of was that she was lying on the sofa with McPherson bending over her, flapping her apron. She gazed up at the servant in bewilderment.
‘What happened?’
‘You fainted, Miss. You gave your mama a terrible fright. The master is attending to her now.’
With McPherson’s help Augusta struggled to a sitting position. Her mother was reclining on the chair opposite sipping a glass of brandy, her father anxiously standing over his wife.
‘Mama, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’
Cameron screwed round a harassed face. ‘Are you all right now?’
‘Yes, Papa.’
‘Mercy, it really is too bad of you, Augusta,’ wailed Felicity. ‘I know the wedding is an exciting prospect, but that is no excuse to allow your emotions to overcome you like this. My heart is still fluttering at the fright you gave me. I don’t know what I would have done if your papa had not been here.’
‘I am sorry, Mama. Really I am. I don’t know what . . . .’
‘Oh, come on, girl. You’ve caused enough trouble,’ said Cameron. ‘It’s time we went through for dinner.’
The thought of food stirred up nausea in Augusta. ‘I’m afraid I don’t feel very hungry. May I miss dinner and retire early instead?’
Felicity sighed. ‘Oh, very well.’
Augusta rose, testing the ground with her feet as if it were dangerous. Then she pattered over to her parents and kissed them to bid them goodnight. It was like kissing stone statues. It occurred to Augusta that they had never shown her much real affection. That they loved each other she had no doubt, but she wondered for the first time if they truly cared about her.
In her room, she summoned Tibs to help her undress, lecturing the girl severely about having laced her stays so tight she had been made to feel faint. Yes, that was the explanation, she told herself. Left alone, Augusta lay back in the bed. Her eyes strayed over the room. On the flat top of the dressing-table stood the silver candlesticks, and her ornate silver-backed brushes and tortoiseshell combs with their silver handles, her scent bottles, her ring stand, and her pretty cabaret de toilette of china. All were part of her life and she found pleasure from recognisable things like these among her new perplexities.
Eventually she drifted off to sleep, until the rattling noise of curtains being drawn awakened her. Then Tibs was lighting the fire and putting a hot water can next to the washstand. Augusta watched the girl bring a clothes-horse from a cupboard and hang clothes on it to air, ready for when she arose to wash and dress.
For no apparent reason the sight of Tibs distressed her and panic rose with sickness in her throat.
‘Bring me the bowl—quickly!’ Augusta’s sudden spasm of retching made Tibs dart into action and get the bowl under her face just in time.
‘Oh, dear, oh, dear,’ she wailed. ‘Shall I fetch the mistress?’
‘No.’ Augusta flopped back against the pillows in wretchedness and exhaustion. ‘Perhaps a cup of tea might help. Bring me a tray, please.’
‘Yes, miss.’ The girl flew for the door still clutching the bowl.
The tea did help and, surprisingly, so did the biscuits that Cook sent up. After nibbling at a couple of them and sipping the tea, she felt in fact perfectly restored. But she arose with care and took her time over dressing.
Downstairs in the dining-room she was able to greet her parents in her normal manner as if nothing was amiss, although her father remarked on how little she ate for breakfast.
After he left for his office, she and her mama went through to the parlour, and it became evident that Mrs Cameron had more to discuss than what shopping and sewing they still needed to do for the trousseau. Her mother propped herself up with cushions on the sofa, clutching a lace-edged handkerchief, and with a bottle of smelling-salts to hand. Augusta sat on the chair opposite and picked up her embroidery.
‘Put that down at once,’ Felicity said. ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Augusta arranged her embroidery on the little table at the side of her chair then sat with hands folded neatly on her lap.
‘Have you been sick?’
‘I have, Mama. It has been most distressing. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘In the mornings?’
‘At other times too, but mostly in the mornings.’
Felicity held her handkerchief to her temple and closed her eyes for a long moment. Augusta watched her with interest.
‘Augusta,’ she continued eventually, ‘have you missed your . . . . your monthly indisposition?’
‘Why, yes, Mama.’
‘Oh, mercy upon us!’ Felicity’s suddenly loudening voice disturbed and confused Augusta. ‘Mercy upon us, you must be with child!’
‘But, Mama . . . .’
‘There are no “buts” about it. Of course we will seek confirmation from a doctor but it is only too obvious. Oh, what are we going to do?’
Augusta, having no idea, kept silent.
‘Augusta, how could you?’ Felicity wailed.
‘How could I what, Mama?’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean. Oh, to think you could be so immode
st. To think you could have allowed the lieutenant to take such liberties.’
‘But I didn’t . . . .’
‘There’s no use trying to deceive me any longer and there’s no use trying to excuse yourself by blaming the lieutenant.’
‘No, I wasn’t . . . .’
‘It is entirely up to a lady to set the standards of modesty and decorum. You should never have allowed him to touch you.’
‘To touch me?’
‘What I cannot fathom, Augusta, is where and how you got the opportunity. You were practically never alone with the lieutenant.’ Mrs Cameron closed her eyes again. ‘You didn’t . . . you couldn’t have allowed him into your bed one night? Oh, mercy, mercy, the wicked wantonness of it!’
Augusta sat still and stiff-backed. But colour had drained from her face and her eyes had melted and widened into abstraction. The nightmare was creeping back. It was a dangerous animal lurking in the black shadows of her mind. Frightened, she strung out thoughts like rosary beads. It couldn’t be true. It mustn’t be true. Such a thing was impossible.
‘Your father will have to be told. We will have to decide what to do,’ her mother was saying. ‘Send one of the maids to tell Mr Cameron to return here immediately.’
‘Are you sure that is necessary, Mama? Papa might not take kindly to being sent for.’
‘Of course it’s necessary. Do as you’re told at once, Augusta.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ She went over to the escritoire where she penned a brief note and sealed it in an envelope. Then she crossed to the bell-pull.
Very shortly, McPherson entered, and after a graceful curtsy stood dutifully waiting.
‘Tell Tibs to deliver this note to the master in his office,’ Augusta said.
‘Yes, miss.’ McPherson took the note and bobbed down and up again before leaving.
After she had gone, Felicity moaned, ‘Oh, mercy upon us, to think that the servants will know. Oh, I cannot bear the shame of it. I shall be ill. You selfish, ungrateful girl—did you not even think of ordering me a cup of tea to help comfort and revive me?’
The Dark Side of Pleasure Page 5