Now that she had retired from her loathed career, she no longer felt the need to keep her figure and might indeed already have lost it altogether had she found Viennese food more to her taste. She did like the cakes, served with mountainous piles of whipped cream, but, not having eaten more than a crumb of anything so disastrous to the shape for so long, found it impossible to eat more than a few fragments before feeling nauseated.
She realised, as she lay upon her bed with the warm cup in her hands, that she was happy to be alive. This was a revelation for, ever since her protector had abandoned her – paying her off with what amounted to a substantial fortune – she had not believed that life had much more to offer. If she had had the courage, she sometimes thought, she would have thrown herself in front of a carriage or taken an excessive dose of laudanum. Now, in the warmth and comfort of her chamber, although her nose hurt abominably, she was grateful for the kindness of the three men who had helped her: von Krems, who could, she supposed, have run away speedily as soon as the accident had occurred; Lord Waldron, whose ability to speak English seemed the most magical thing that had ever happened; and the doctor, who had set her mind at rest on the impermanence of the injury. If it was the first time for many years that she had enjoyed a full cup of chocolate and felt grateful to be alive, it was also the first time – perhaps in her entire life – that she had cause to be grateful to three men who had taken care of her without wanting to make love to her. Perhaps, she thought, as the laudanum began to take effect and her eyelids to droop, growing old was not so very bad after all.
When she awoke the room was dark and she wondered what time it was before she remembered that Lisl had drawn the curtains before she left. She lit the candle beside the bed and rose, rather shakily. As soon as she stood up her nose began to hurt to such a degree that tears filled her eyes. She felt, now, very far from content. She had not wept since her last quarrel with her protector and then the tears had been of anger and frustration rather than sadness. During the ensuing months, as she had packed up the house in London which he had given her, arranged for facilities to withdraw money from a bank in Vienna and set out, by herself, without even a familiar maid – that had surely been a mistake for however good Lisl was it was dreadfully difficult to communicate with her – she had not shed tears.
Since arriving in Vienna and renting the tall, thin house in which she lived, refurbishing the interior and finding servants, she had been too much occupied to waste time in weeping. She had recently, it was true, begun to feel the cold bite of loneliness but it was more of an ache than the acute sort of pain which brought tears.
She sat down again on the edge of her bed for some minutes and had begun to sob in good earnest when she realised that such an action was hardly conducive to reducing the pain of her nose; indeed, as the tears began to fall and her nose to run, she was obliged to mop up the liquid which began to pool above her top lip and then to run down further and drip off her chin on to her lap. Mopping at it with another handkerchief, she perceived that blood made up a good proportion of it. The shock of seeing this stopped her tears abruptly. She sniffed forcefully several times and, holding the handkerchief to her nose, stumbled towards the curtains to draw them back, only to discover that it was quite dark outside.
She lit more candles, consulted the clock on the mantelpiece and saw that it was nearly the hour at which she was accustomed to eat her dinner. The entire afternoon had passed in a drug-induced sleep.
She rang the bell and communicated – with the usual difficulty – to Lisl that she wished to dress for dinner and the cook must be informed that, although she had spent most of the day in bed, she still intended to sit at the table for dinner at the usual time.
Lisl, understanding what was required, bobbed a curtsey and disappeared to inform the kitchen of its duty, returning a few minutes later with a bowl of warm water to wash her mistress’s face for the second time. Cassie sat down at the dressing table while the maid chose a dress for the Gnädige Frau to wear that evening.
Thus it was that she beheld her altered face for the first time. It was perhaps fortunate that she saw it by candlelight for the absence of natural light robbed it temporarily of some of the horrors which she was to discover on the morrow. She turned away from the image, sickened and almost fainting with horror.
The maid appeared with a silk dress which she held up questioningly. Cassie nodded indifferently and Lisl laid the dress upon the bed while she arranged her mistress’s hair. As she brushed out the tangles, she talked in a soothing voice. Cassie assumed she was attempting to allay the distress she read on her mistress’s face and smiled weakly in response. It was almost a relief that the maid’s knowledge of her poor skill in the German language obviated the need to respond in a more lively fashion.
She found, when she sat down to dinner, that she was surprisingly hungry and wondered if this was as much on account of missing nuncheon as the shock of the morning’s injury. In any event, she ate more than usual, which seemed to meet with the butler’s approval for he smiled upon her encouragingly.
Her positive mood did not, unfortunately, last for long after dinner. She felt too unnerved and uncomfortable to concentrate upon her book; when she bent her head, her nose hurt. She moved to the pianoforte, an instrument which had, usually, the power to soothe her, and began to play in a desultory fashion but this too proved to be beyond her present powers and she retired to a sofa where she leaned back with her head on a cushion and an empty mind.
When she finally retired to bed she could not sleep – unsurprisingly since she had spent the best part of the day in slumber. She took some more laudanum and eventually fell into a fitful and disturbed doze, full of alarming dreams and fractured memories.
She rose early and decided, after looking at her face in the mirror, against her usual walk to the Prater. Her nose was dreadfully swollen – it resembled, she thought, a rotting vegetable which had somehow arrived in the middle of her face – and it was a perfectly hideous colour. There were deep half-moon-shaped bruises beneath eyes which were horridly bloodshot. Even when her first seducer had hit her repeatedly during the scene which had been almost the grand finale of their connexion, she had not looked quite so much as though she had been in a fight. He had given her a black eye and a split lip but most of the damage had been on her body, where it could be decently covered by clothes.
She was still eating her breakfast when a knock upon the door signalled a caller of some sort. She listened to the low murmur of voices in the hall and heard the door shut again. A moment later the butler entered the room bearing a huge bunch of flowers which he presented with much bowing and smiling. Cassie requested a vase and, when the man had left the room, extracted the card which was fixed to the bouquet. It was from Count von Krems (and his son). The gentleman once again apologised profusely for the accident, hoped she would accept this small and wholly inadequate token and promised to call upon her later in the day to enquire after her health. Although the Austrian hand was difficult to decipher, she found that she was better able to understand the words when they were written than when they were spoken.
The bouquet turned out to be so vast that several vases were required and, once she had arranged the flowers – and wondered at how the Count had managed to obtain so many blooms in the middle of winter - she placed them around the house, including one in the hall so that von Krems would see it as soon as he entered, if he called as promised.
The next visitor was not the Count but the doctor, who examined her nose carefully and pronounced himself happy with the way it was looking. Cassie was fairly certain this was what he said as his words were accompanied by much nodding and smiling and one or two hand gestures indicating the triviality of the injury.
When he left she returned to the pianoforte and played with increased enthusiasm – although restricting herself to pieces which did not require her to hit the keys fortissimo. She was still seated at the instrument when Lord Waldron was announced.
/> Chapter 6
The next morning Lady Charles rose earlier than usual and, instead of breakfasting in her room as was her custom, took herself to the small dining room where the rest of the family, including her husband, were already seated.
She said, with an air of martyrdom bravely born, that she was determined that the girls should have their hearts’ desire and go to the assembly rooms that very evening. She had hardly closed her eyes all night, she continued, for worrying about the dowdiness of their gowns; as a consequence she had determined to visit Tunbridge Wells as soon as breakfast was finished in order to update their wardrobes.
“But will it not be too fatiguing for you, Aunt, to drive twice to Tunbridge Wells in one day?” Honoria asked, astonished.
“I own that I am a little anxious that so much exertion in one day may lead to prostration,” her ladyship admitted with a sigh, “but it is such a long time since I went shopping that I daresay I may find the strength to enjoy it.” This was said with a noticeable lack of optimism. “And, after our discussion about hair styles yesterday, I consider it imperative to make some attempt to discover the current fashion; there is, after all, nothing so dating as doing one’s hair in an antiquated manner.”
“I should like a new dress, Mama,” Helen admitted.
“Indeed; it is not to be wondered at,” her ladyship agreed, favouring her daughter with a brittle smile. “And, if we find ourselves too fatigued to set out again in the evening, we can postpone our outing until next week.”
“Oh no!” Helen exclaimed. “I was so looking forward to it. I believe I would prefer to go in the dowdy gown than not go at all.”
“Well, you can extend your delight by looking forward to the outing for another week before the whole project is ruined by experience,” Frank pointed out.
“Always unwise to do things in a helter-skelter manner,” his lordship opined to everyone’s surprise. He was engaged in working his way through a large plate of beef with his head buried in the newspaper as usual.
“We never do things other than in the most meticulous fashion,” Helen contradicted, becoming more animated now that she had something definite to complain about. “Indeed, so long do we spend planning and organising every activity that, when it comes to the point, there is generally no time to do it at all. Why, Honoria is nearly one and twenty and I but one year younger - and we have never once been to the assembly rooms.”
“But, neither, in point of fact, have we discussed such an outing until yesterday. It is the one activity over which we have not deliberated so that I suppose it will not altogether kill us to wait another week,” Honoria said, trying to steer a course through waters which she could perceive were rapidly becoming turbulent. “If you wish to make an entrance, Helen, it would surely be better to do so properly accoutred than so ill-dressed as to appear a figure of fun.”
Helen, not unnaturally seeing this as an attempt to induce her to back down, snapped, “Do you not want a proper suitor – or are you content with Frank?”
“I am not at all certain that I do – and, much as I hold Frank in affection, it is not in the guise of a suitor,” Honoria replied, still in an emollient tone.
“Now you have cast me into the utmost despair!” Frank exclaimed, seizing the opportunity to take centre stage. “Do you tell me I am not as fine a gentleman as any other?”
“I daresay you are a good deal finer than many,” she replied, laughing with relief because dealing with Frank was so easy compared to the much more exacting task of keeping his mother and sister on an even keel. “I am not in a position where I can judge the merits of one gentleman over another, but – fine as you are - that is not at all the same thing as a suitor.”
“Is it not? Will you not consider me in that light, dearest cousin?” As he spoke, he took her hand, imprinted a kiss upon it and bestowed upon her what she considered to be an unnecessarily – and probably mocking - warm look.
Honoria, unsure whether he meant to make a jest or issue a challenge, withdrew her hand with an exaggerated pout of regret. “I am afraid not, dearest Frank. We know each other too well to indulge in romantic feelings.”
“You are an odd girl if you think romantic feelings must be reserved for the unknown,” he said, his amusement fading.
“I am entirely ignorant of romantic feelings except between the pages of a book,” she pointed out, “but it’s my belief that Nature designed us to be protected from such things within the family.”
“Have you given some thought to the matter then?” he asked, brightening as he sensed the possibility of an argument during which he was confident he would succeed in defeating her.
“No - or not until this moment,” she admitted.
“I did not mean to distress you,” Frank said in a different tone, reaching for her hand again. Since it was engaged in conveying a morsel of bread and jam to her mouth, his action caused her to drop it.
“No,” she agreed, pushing her chair back with some violence and concentrating upon removing the bread and jam from her lap where it had, of course, fallen jam-side down. “You no doubt thought it good sport to make fun of your unsophisticated little cousin but I think it unkind and – yes – it has caused me to question my feelings as well as my beliefs.”
“And did they return an answer?”
“Yes; and they are entirely in accord with each other. Pray let me remove the jam from my gown myself – your attempts to do so are only making matters worse.”
This last was uttered in an exasperated tone as Frank rubbed her skirt vigorously with a napkin, causing the stain to spread outwards from the initial mark.
“You had better change your dress at once,” Lady Charles said sharply, “for I wish to be off within a quarter of an hour.”
“Shall I come with you?” Frank asked, “To offer advice?”
“No!” all three females replied as one.
“I seem to have caused offence,” he said in a hurt tone. “What have I done? I made sure I was being helpful.”
“Well, you were not!” Honoria snapped, jumping up from the table and going to the door.
It was more than half an hour later that they finally set forth. It could not have been more than five minutes after the door of the carriage was shut and the horses had begun to move down the drive that Lady Charles returned to her favourite topic of conversation: her son.
“I cannot think that there can be a more handsome man in England than Frank,” she began, settling back on the squabs for a comfortable discussion of the apple of her eye.
Honoria decided that her wisest course was to ignore this opening gambit and it was Helen who took up the challenge.
“Oh, pray, Mama, spare us a disquisition on Frank’s perfections. He is all very well but he is not my idea of a handsome man. To my mind his looks are almost feminine.”
“I think that a very unkind thing to say,” Lady Charles said in an oppressed voice, “particularly when I have made such an effort to take you out this morning to buy you a new dress so that you can go to the assembly rooms later – which I understood to be your heart’s desire.”
“Thank you, Mama; I appreciate the effort you are making but you will never convince me that you are taking such a step for any reason other than that Frank begged you – and you thought it the perfect opportunity to throw him together with Honoria in a romantic setting.”
“I am doing it because you begged me,” her mother asseverated. “It has nothing to do with either Frank or Honoria.”
Honoria suspected that it was Helen’s historic resentment of her brother that was prompting her to pick an argument with her mother.
“He thought of her as his sister until you decided to make her an object of desire,” Helen continued, refusing to be deflected.
Honoria knew how bitter Helen’s heart was at perceiving herself to be the least cherished child of the three and wholly agreed with the proposal to introduce her to Tunbridge Wells Society. If Helen could find an admirer, it
was to be hoped that her temper would improve, she would find something else upon which to concentrate and the idiotic suggestion that she and Frank would make a match of it would wither and die.
“You are quite mistaken if that is what you think,” Lady Charles retorted, rallying. “He has never thought of her as a sister – always as a cousin – and cousins are quite different.”
“They are not so very different if they are brought up together,” Helen argued. “I suppose you are afraid that Honoria will take her fortune elsewhere unless she can be induced to attach herself to Frank – and, of course, he to her. If that is your intention, Mama, I can only say that you have not managed the matter at all well.”
This was a revelation to Honoria who had not, until recently, thought about her fortune and its attractions. She had never suspected that Lord and Lady Charles might wish to annex her legacy for themselves; they had been kind to her and had welcomed her into their family. She had thought they loved her, as she loved them. Now, suddenly, it was not only Frank of whom she need be afraid, but her aunt and uncle as well; her recent interview with her uncle and his reluctance to answer her questions took on a different complexion.
Both she and Lady Charles lost their tempers simultaneously.
Lady Charles turned a vivid and unflattering red and almost spat at her daughter. “How dare you accuse me of anything so dishonourable? You know that I have always held Honoria in the greatest affection and would have been perfectly happy to have brought her up even had she been possessed of nothing more than the clothes she stood up in.”
Honoria exclaimed, “You have gone too far, Helen! Am I now to be on the look-out for fortune-hunters within my own family?”
“It is a wonder to me that you have remained ignorant of the true state of affairs. Mama has been planning this ever since you first arrived when Frank was a little boy; that, an I mistake not, is one of the reasons she has never been interested in me; she was far too taken up with welding you and Frank together. Do not forget that, when you were foisted upon her, she was already incensed about being obliged to bring up another orphan - Horatio – who has been the Earl almost since he was in short coats; there would never be anything for Frank unless you could be induced to share your fortune with him.”
Honoria Or The Safety 0f The Frying Pan Page 5