“Nothing,” Lady Charles declared on a rising note, “could be further from the truth! I am sure I do not know why you have taken it into your head that I favour Frank; I have never done so – never – and, if it has on occasion seemed that way, it is entirely on account of your vicious temper and unwarranted jealousy – which make it excessively difficult for anyone to feel warmly towards you!”
“When I was very little,” Helen conceded, “you did not, I own, make such a distinction; it was only as I grew bigger and you found me less malleable that you took against me. All the same, you have always favoured Honoria over me, which is, to my mind, entirely unnatural and can only be because she is possessed of a fortune.”
“Have you ever thought that it may be because she is a deal more agreeable? I have grown positively afraid of you and your petulant outbursts. And,” she added, suddenly recalling that her conduct as a loving aunt had been called ‘unnatural’, “it would have been iniquitous if I had favoured you over my poor dead sister’s child!”
“It would at least have had the merit of being natural,” Helen said. “I date your withdrawal of affection to the time when my looks began to fade – and Honoria’s to blossom. That was when you gave up hoping to marry me to Horatio and concentrated all your efforts on marrying her to Frank.”
“Your looks to fade?” Lady Charles exclaimed. “You are only nineteen now.”
“I believe I was quite a pretty child,” Helen began, now adopting a martyred air. “But, when the colour of my hair faded and I was afflicted with all those unsightly spots all over my face, you could hardly bear to look at me.”
“We could none of us do so without feeling intensely sorry for you,” Honoria put in, feeling duty-bound to take a hand in the increasingly bitter exchange between mother and daughter. “But they have entirely vanished now and you have the complexion of a rose petal. You exaggerate, Helen. Your hair has not faded - it is simply pale – and always has been - but it is true that it is no longer that really quite peculiar shade of white that it once was. Personally, I consider it an improvement.”
“Oh, thank you for taking my part even if it is done with the complacent air of a woman who knows her own looks are above criticism,” Helen retorted.
“I would not go so far as to say that my appearance could not be improved,” Honoria said thoughtfully. “If one is obliged to look at it every day – as I am – one is bound to notice a good many flaws but I shall not point them out to you for, if you have not noticed them, I would only be giving you ammunition. Let us consider, rather, what sort of dresses we shall find when we reach Tunbridge Wells and which colours we favour. We must be sure to study any ladies we see in order to gain some sort of insight into up-to-the-minute hair styles.”
“Pray do not attempt to soft-soap me with such absurdities,” Helen cried, by no means mollified. “The way ladies arrange their hair to go shopping is surely not at all the same as the way they will do so to attend a ball – even if it is only in the local assembly rooms.”
“No,” Honoria agreed. “That fact has been causing me some concern – for how are we to know what they do with their hair in the evening until we have arrived and observed the differences between them and us? Will there be some magazines in the shops, do you think, Aunt?”
“I expect so, my dear,” Lady Charles said in a trembling voice. “We can always ask the shopkeeper, I suppose. But I am not at all sure that we should not turn round at once and go home for my palpitations have begun.”
“Oh, of course, I might have known some excuse would be found to prevent us arriving anywhere! I thought it too good to be true when the carriage managed to leave the drive!” Helen declared.
“If Aunt is not well, we should return home without delay!” Honoria said. “And, if she is suffering from palpitations, it is entirely your fault for picking a quarrel with her.”
She opened her reticule and withdrew the sal volatile she had taken the precaution of bringing; the scene was not unexpected; sitting in the close confines of a carriage with Lady Charles and Helen was a certain recipe for argument. She uncorked the bottle and waved it in front of her aunt’s face.
“Oh, my dear!” her ladyship cried, breathing in the bracing fumes and bursting into tears. “I cannot disappoint you!” she went on, searching for her handkerchief and sniffing resolutely. “We will persist and, if we are too fatigued to go out again this evening, at least we will have the dresses so that we shall be able to go next week.”
Chapter 7
The Earl of Waldron entered the room on the heels of the butler.
“I hope I am not disturbing you,” he began. “But I wanted to assure myself that you are well on the way to recovery from your unfortunate accident.”
“You are not disturbing me in the least,” Cassie replied. “I am delighted to see you. Can I offer you some refreshment?”
The Earl accepted and she smiled at her visitor; his face was so friendly and agreeable that she was able to forget for a few moments how distressing he might find hers.
He was a tall, slim man with hair the colour of molasses and grey eyes. He looked very young – not much more than a boy – and was, she could not help noticing, exceedingly handsome.
“You are looking much better,” he said, his eyes resting sympathetically and apparently without recoiling upon her features.
“Indeed? I must have looked perfectly monstrous yesterday.”
“Yes,” he agreed without a hint of embarrassment. “It was not that you resembled a monster – far from it – but there was such a quantity of blood and you were so shocked – understandably – that you looked like a frightened animal. Is it still painful?”
“Yes, particularly when I bend down.”
“I daresay that is to be expected. Has the doctor called this morning?”
“Yes. He said – at least I think he said – that he was happy with what he saw. It seems odd that anyone could be precisely happy to look upon something so repellent as what is now in the middle of my face.”
He smiled. "I am too - delighted at the evidence of progress, which I daresay is what he meant, and your more cheerful demeanour. The bruises will fade soon, as will the swelling; you must not refine upon it.”
The butler brought in a tray bearing the refreshments and, when he had departed, Cassie busied herself with serving her guest. His lordship rose and took his cup from her, sitting down again opposite her.
“How long have you been in Vienna?” he asked conversationally.
“I am ashamed to admit more than five months; my knowledge of the language is embarrassingly poor for such a long stay.”
“I daresay you only speak to English people. It is important, if you wish to master the language, to converse with natives as much as possible.”
“The only people I speak to from morning ‘til night are my servants and they are all Viennese,” she admitted.
“Do you have no companion? I did not think to ask yesterday - although I am sure I should have done for leaving you alone in the state you were in was an outrageous dereliction of duty. I am sorry for my oversight. Have you no acquaintance in Vienna?”
“No, I live by myself but you did not leave me precisely alone yesterday – I have a house full of servants and they looked after me very well. I was widowed shortly before I came here,” she added with a sudden fiery blush for she did not at all like telling lies, particularly to a young man with such an open countenance.
“I am sorry to hear that you have lost your husband. I take it he died quite recently?”
“He – he was gone in April,” she faltered, unwilling to compound the lie by using the word ‘died’.
He nodded with a look of sympathy which made Cassie shudder with guilt for she had done nothing to deserve it. He, tactfully withdrawing his gaze, allowed a pause to elapse, presumably to mark her loss, although he might have been thinking about the time span and coming to the conclusion that she had – surely rather oddly – left
England within a couple of months of Mr Morley’s death.
“I daresay you have not wished for the company of others for the last half year but, if you feel that enough time has now passed for you to begin to return to Society - that is to say, if you would like to meet a few people – I can probably be of assistance. Being attached to the Embassy, I go to a good many parties and have a wide acquaintance amongst both English and Viennese people.”
“That is very kind of you. I did think at first that I wished to be alone, that I did not want to talk – or think – about what had happened more than was absolutely necessary; indeed, that was why I came here – precisely because I knew no one. I hoped to begin a new life but it has not proved so easy as I supposed it would; the most successful aspect of the move is that my desire to be alone has been amply fulfilled.” She managed a little laugh, designed to indicate that she was simply stating a fact, not complaining.
Lord Waldron was not deceived. “I have the impression that, although you are perhaps quite content to continue to live alone, you would welcome the company of others from time to time.”
“You are right. The truth, I suppose, is that I find my own company a vast deal more tedious than I had expected.”
“I think all of us who consider our companions irritating develop a longing to be alone but that, to my mind, is a false conclusion. The correct one is that we need a different set of friends.”
“Precisely; but unfortunately, although I have succeeded in leaving the old ones behind, I have not been able to replace them.”
“I will see what I can do to remedy that. The ambassador’s wife is giving a rout next week; I am sure I could arrange for you to be sent an invitation: a newly arrived Englishwoman etc.”
“Thank you, but I do not believe I am quite ready to attend a party. In any event, I could not show myself to a new set of people looking as I do; what would people say or think I had been up to? How long do you suppose it will take for the bruises to fade and for my nose to return to something approaching its original proportions?” she added anxiously.
“A couple of weeks, I would guess. It was perhaps premature to suggest you attend a party next week. However, I do not think you should be too concerned about what people make of your bruises, particularly since, in the evening, you may be able to get away with a liberal dusting of powder. As for the proportions of your nose, no one will be any the wiser; they will think whatever you have in the way of a nose is how you were made.”
“Oh,” she said on a long-drawn sigh. “Must I become accustomed to looking like a species of monkey?”
“I have never seen a monkey which in any way resembles you, Mrs Morley. Pray forgive me if you thought that I was implying that the size – and shape – of your nose will not, in time, be just as it was. I am supposed to be a diplomat and seem to have fallen short on this occasion,” he added humorously.
“I was not finding fault with you, my lord, only reflecting on how difficult it will be to come to terms with my altered appearance. It is bad enough growing old but to become excessively ugly all of a sudden is something which I am ashamed to admit I shall find hard. In short, I am given to vanity and no doubt am being justly punished for it.”
“We are all vain,” he said gently. “The doctor insisted that you would look just as you did before you were hit once the swelling has diminished – and I am certain that you will. If you are reluctant to be seen in public just at present, will you allow me to call upon you again? I can fill you in on what has been taking place in Viennese society and introduce you to some people by means of descriptive gossip.”
“I should be immensely grateful, my lord, but will you have time? I would not like to be responsible for your thinking to yourself that you must somehow find half an hour to call upon that tiresome Englishwoman.”
“Oh, I think it is probably part of my job, you know,” he said teasingly.
Cassie felt insulted by his failure to respond in the way that she had hoped – and endeavoured to engineer - and drew herself up straighter in her chair.
“I would rather remain alone than become a burden,” she said coldly.
“What would you prefer to be? An amusement? Would you not find that equally insulting?”
“It is surely preferable to being a burden. At least, if I am an amusement, you might derive some pleasure from the encounter. I do not wish to be a charity case.”
“Do you think that is why I have come here this morning?”
“Most likely. You became embroiled in my affairs when you intervened to help me with the language and you have come this morning as a consequence of that. You are not obliged to come again or indeed to invite me to a party.”
“No; as you say, there was no necessity to invite you to the rout – and indeed I should not have done so for clearly it is too soon after your loss to be thinking of parties. I own I did come here this morning on account of having, as you put it, become ‘embroiled’ in your affairs. Would you like me to take my leave before I annoy you further?”
“By all means, if that is your wish.”
Cassie found she did not know where she was with this decidedly outspoken young man. Having foolishly admitted that she had no friends and then ungraciously refused his offer of help to find new ones, he now appeared to be under the impression that she disliked him and wished he would leave her alone. Nothing could have been further from the truth. She had fled England in search of anonymity as well as a new life, but she had found that her insistence upon maintaining the one militated against her embarking upon the other. This young man, with his blessed Englishness as well as his charmingly youthful openness, had offered her a solution which she was too nervous to accept.
The sulky tone seemed to amuse him. He said, “It is not my wish. Is it yours?”
She could not remember ever having been asked such a direct question about what she wanted and wondered if this was the way respectable people generally behaved. She had, early, learned that men wished to be with her on account of her beauty and, although they did make desultory attempts at conversation, such small talk was only a precursor to making love.
This man had paid her no compliments - although that was hardly surprising in view of the way she now looked – and, although he had begun in an unexceptionable manner when he first entered the room, he had not only refused to take the bait she had dangled before him but had pushed it back in her direction. Now it seemed that she must either admit that she wanted him to stay or tell him to leave. She was not accustomed to such open dealings with men. From the very first misunderstanding with the rake, no one – neither she nor he – had laid their cards upon the table in quite this manner, at least not in the beginning. It was another matter when they dispensed with her services; then the dismissals had generally been administered sharply, cruelly and incontrovertibly. It was only the kindness and generosity of her most recent protector that had enabled her to retire, if not precisely with dignity, at least with sufficient funds to keep her in comfort.
The silence lengthened while she tried to think of a suitable answer; she was uncertain whether he was flirting with her or simply showing a degree of consideration with which she was unfamiliar.
He leaned forward and helped himself to another cake.
“They make excellent cakes in Vienna,” she said to break the silence.
“Indeed; your cook seems particularly gifted in that department even if he cannot speak English.”
“There is no reason why he should; I am in his country and should make an effort to speak German; well, in point of fact I do, but without much success.”
“As I told you before, it is a question largely of practice. Would you like me to engage a tutor for you?”
“Could you?” she asked eagerly. “I should like that very much.” This was such a straightforward question that she had no difficulty answering it.
“Yes; it would be no trouble at all. Would you prefer a lady or a gentleman?”
�
��A lady, I suppose.”
“You do not sound convinced. Are you worried that a gentleman might become over-familiar?”
“Yes; after all, I have no chaperone although of course I am far too old to need one.”
“Not too old, but a widow. Is that what troubles you in my presence? I have the impression that you are not altogether easy in my company. But you do not need one; it is only young, unmarried girls who must be chaperoned at all times. Of course, having been married does not preclude over-familiarity but I promise I will not overstep the mark.”
He spoke gravely, the teasing tone banished, so that Cassie realised that he had taken her discomfort perfectly seriously – although she was undoubtedly old enough to be his mother and had displayed an exceedingly odd ignorance of a matter which she realised must be perfectly well known to everyone else in the world. She felt the hot colour rise into her face.
“Of course you will not! Gracious, I am by far too old! What must you think of me?” she cried, jumping up from her chair in dismay. She realised with a sinking of the spirits that her plan to start a new life in a new country had been inadequately thought out. She had believed that all she needed to do to become – or to pretend to be – respectable was to move to a place where she was unknown and assume a false name. A dead husband had seemed like the sort of accessory required to make her unremarkable but, however many dead husbands or false names she manufactured, it seemed that her actual experience of life and her own behaviour had given her away within a scarce half-hour of talking to an entirely innocent young man. She might, she supposed, have managed to keep her secret for a little longer if he had been Viennese for the language barrier would have made it more difficult for her to blunder into such an error quite so quickly.
Honoria Or The Safety 0f The Frying Pan Page 6