Honoria Or The Safety 0f The Frying Pan

by Catherine Bowness

  “Not for a few days. I have been taking lessons from Fräulein Brunner and believe I am beginning to have a little more idea of how the language is constructed.” She hesitated but, when the Earl said nothing, went on, “After I had drunk coffee with him in his house and we had engaged in an absurdly infantile attempt at conversation, we determined that we would practise spoken German – as well as English for his sake – with Fräulein Brunner acting as interpreter.”

  “That sounds like an excellent notion. Have you put it into practice yet?”

  “We tried once but it did not go well. We both spoke in measured phrases which the good lady translated faithfully until I said something which she clearly thought beyond the pale. Rather than translating it and leaving me to incur his displeasure – or fabricating something innocuous but inaccurate instead – she refused the fence and pretended to be overtaken with a coughing fit. It was excessively embarrassing. I cannot imagine what he must have thought.”

  Lord Waldron evidently thought it extremely funny for he was overtaken by a prolonged bout of laughing which he made no attempt to disguise as coughing.

  “So you said something outrageous, she began to cough, what did he do?”

  “Nothing at the start. I was mortified and took refuge in speaking to the little boy. What she disapproved of was that I had suggested that he should engage a drawing master for the child, who is obviously unusually talented with a pencil. I suppose she thought I was telling him how to bring up his child. The thing is, if I had said that in my halting German, he would merely have thought that I could not express myself properly. In fact, I did do so while she was pretending to cough and he seemed not at all put out, indeed he asked the boy if he would like to have a special drawing teacher.”

  This explanation did nothing to stop the Earl from laughing. On the contrary, his hoots of amusement redoubled.

  “Are you telling me that you and von Krems continued to discuss drawing masters while poor Fräulein Brunner was coughing? What did the boy do?”

  “He joined in the discussion about a possible art teacher.”

  “While the German teacher choked unmolested?”

  “Yes; well, now that you point it out, I suppose it was a trifle callous of us to ignore her paroxysms, but I assure you that her act was so excessively poor that neither of us was deceived for a moment.”

  “Did he even look at her?”

  “I am not sure that he did. Is that, in your experience, common amongst noble Viennese? A humble teacher is of so little importance that, if she were to choke to death in his library, he would merely call for the servants to remove the body?”

  “It is probably not all that uncommon. All the same, you said earlier that her attack was clearly faked; was that why you ignored her?”

  “I was excessively angry as a matter of fact. I was paying that woman to translate both what I said and what he said, faithfully. I had not engaged her to censor what I said.”

  “No; and, since you had engaged her, she was your responsibility; perhaps he did not like to intervene.”

  “I own I had not thought of that. Perhaps he did not; no doubt he was showing the sort of polite reticence about interfering which I should have shown on the subject of art teachers. In any event, I have neither seen nor heard from him since.”

  “And she? Has she continued to teach you?”

  “Yes. The first day she asked whether he was coming for the English version of the conversation practice and, when I said no, she said nothing further. The subject has not been raised since.”

  “I see. Would you rather I did not invite von Krems to join our party?”

  “I feel I should make my peace with him first. Do you suppose he has taken umbrage because I have not reminded him of our arrangement? He struck me as an exceedingly proper gentleman. I hope I have not offended him.”

  “I should think it unlikely but he may think that you did not enjoy the session when Fräulein Brunner was present and that you have decided to let the matter drop. Did you have the impression that he enjoyed it?”

  “It was impossible to tell but I do think he enjoyed our earlier attempts at dialogue – without Fräulein Brunner to make us speak correctly.”

  “In that case, why do you not invite him to drink coffee here without her? Ask him to come in the afternoon when she will have gone – and do not tell her that you have written to him. I will hold fire on setting up a concert party until I have heard how you and von Krems have arranged matters.”

  Cassie, rather reluctantly, agreed to this. She was strangely averse to inviting the Count to re-enter her life; she was afraid he might think her encroaching; after all, she had not heard a word from him since the ill-fated German conversation meeting.

  She asked Lord Waldron to help her compose the letter but he declined, saying that she must do it herself because, if she wanted to reinstate their friendship without the teacher being involved, she must demonstrate her willingness to employ what little knowledge she had of his language – even if she put things in the wrong way.

  When he had left, Cassie sat down at her desk with her dictionary and composed a brief note apologising for her tardiness in confirming the next session and inviting him to drink coffee with her in a couple of days’ time. She suggested he come in the afternoon as her mornings were taken up with lessons. She thought that this ought, if she had been able to write anything which he would be able to understand, to make it clear that Fräulein Brunner would not be there.

  She received a reply at once, brought back by the same messenger with whom she had despatched her letter, accepting the invitation with pleasure and apparently looking forward to seeing her again.

  The Count arrived precisely ten minutes after the hour at which she had requested his presence. It was snowing outside and, although he had been divested of his coat and hat by the butler, his face glowed from its contact with the icy flakes.

  She noticed for the first time that he was a remarkably handsome man and felt suddenly unnerved by his presence, at her invitation, in her saloon. For all her extensive experience with men, Cassie had very little knowledge of how to behave with gentlemen of her own age who had no thought of making love to her.

  “I apologise for bringing you out when it is snowing,” she said carefully. “Did you walk?”

  “Yes. It is not far and the snow is pretty,” he said in strongly accented English which made the unremarkable observation charming.

  “You did not bring your son.”

  “No; did you wish me to? You did not say so in your letter.”

  She had not, when she had written the note, mentioned the child but had, since sending it and receiving the reply, rather wished that she had requested his presence for it was easy to speak to Gustav – almost any simple observation would do to kick a conversation of sorts into play. His father, with his perfect manners and stiff demeanour, was another matter.

  “I did not mind; I left it in your hands,” she said, keeping her sentences short in the hope that he would understand.

  “Yes; I decided to leave him at home.”

  That seemed to be the end of that strand of dialogue and Cassie was thankful that the butler chose that moment to enter the room with the coffee.

  “Have you resolved that we must try to speak to each other without the help of Fräulein Brunner?” he asked as the man left.

  “Yes; I did not think that I was ready to converse in such a formal manner. I felt more confused than helped by her interpretation.”

  “I, too,” he said at once. “And I objected to her not translating something she did not like.”

  “You noticed that?” She looked up a little shyly.

  “Of course.” He smiled with what she thought was genuine amusement and she noticed how white and even his teeth were.

  “I suppose she thought I spoke out of turn and was afraid that what I said might make you angry. Did it?”

  “Of course not. You saw that I was not angry. I continue
d to talk on the subject without her help.”

  Cassie said, wondering if admitting to her own discomfort would embarrass him since he had shown none, “I feel a little guilty for allowing her to cough for so long without any intervention. She might have choked.”

  “It was false,” he said. “She was not coughing. If she had been my teacher I would have asked her to leave.”

  “You could have done; she was in your house.”

  “Yes, but she had come with you and I did not think it was my place to dismiss her. I am glad she is not here today.”

  Cassie flushed, put out by what she took to be a criticism of her failure to control her teacher but replied firmly, “I believe that we will learn more by ourselves. You are speaking exceptionally well today, Mein Herr; I think you have been a little deceitful for you know much more English than you have admitted.”

  “I have spent the past few days studying my old school books; I did learn English as a boy, as I told you, but have not spoken it for many years. It is remarkable how quickly these things return to one.”

  “Ah! You have the advantage then. I have never studied German; as a girl, I was taught French – although very badly by an English governess. When I first went to France I soon discovered how inept my attempts were.”

  “You have spent much time in France?”

  “A little,” she conceded, reluctant to confess to how many years she had spent in Paris as a demi-mondaine. She was beginning to perceive how difficult it would be to spend much time talking to the Count without inadvertently letting slip a good many memories which would all too soon reveal her past.

  “In that case, when we are lost for words, we can try French. Do you speak any other languages?”

  “Italian – also a little.”

  “That should be helpful if we visit the opera,” he said. “Some are in German, but the majority are in Italian – even those by Mozart, who was, after all, Austrian. I hope you will come with me one evening.”

  “I do not think I am ready to show my face just yet.”

  “It is much better,” he said. “I am so sorry about it.”

  “It was an accident. In any event, if it had not happened I would not have met either you or Lord Waldron. He is a sort of cousin of mine,” she added.

  “Is that why you came to Vienna – because he was here?”

  “Oh no; I did not know that he was and, although when we spoke after the accident, we discovered that we were connected, I have never met him before.”

  “I am glad you came,” he said simply and she was not sure whether he meant it or whether it was the only thing he could think of to say. “Have you other acquaintances in this city?”

  “No; that is why I chose Vienna; I wanted to be alone.”

  “I can understand that; after my wife died I wanted to be alone. I was not brave enough to move to another country.”

  “No, but you have a son; he might not have liked being dragged across Europe.”

  “I do not suppose that he would have minded; when he was very small he would not have known the difference between one country and another so long as he had Gretl and me. Now that he is a little older I think he will find more to amuse him here. He likes to see the soldiers march up and down in front of the Hofburg. Have you seen that, Mrs Morley?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I have not done much except walk to the Prater.”

  “Then you must come. Gustav will enjoy telling you about their uniforms. He especially likes the gold tassels and, of course, their swords. We can talk about it in German and English and we will all learn something.”

  Cassie consented to this although she did not think that the Count needed to learn a great deal more English.

  “We will go one afternoon after you have had your lesson,” he told her, “although there are many things to see in Vienna and you cannot waste every morning learning verbs.”

  “No,” she agreed, “but if I do not study hard I shall never catch up with you, mein Herr.”

  “But you can speak German every day with many people; I can only speak English with you – and it is useful for my son,” he added blandly.

  Chapter 19

  Honoria had not gone far before she was afflicted with doubt about whether she had done the right thing in leaving her childhood home in such a hasty manner.

  It was cold and dark and she had never felt so alone. She had not left the estate in her entire life except in the company of her aunt – and she could probably have counted on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had done even that, the last two being the double trip to Tunbridge Wells earlier that day.

  She emerged on to the road along which they had travelled and was faced immediately with the question of which way she should turn; right, she knew from the earlier journeys, would take her to Tunbridge Wells and, eventually, to London. She knew no one there – indeed, she knew no one outside her family apart from Lord Ninfield. She could hardly present herself in the early hours of the morning at the house of a man she had met once and danced with twice. He would be bound to send her straight back and would, at the same time, form a very odd opinion of her. She had liked him and had a vague wish to see him again, but she could not, unless he were to think her deranged, turn up on his doorstep with a valise and a story quite as fantastic as any retailed in a volume from the lending library. No, she could not seek refuge there, not least because it was not many miles from her home. If he did not shut the door in her face, he would send word to her family and someone would come and fetch her – probably Frank – and then she would be kept under such close guard that she would stand no further chance of escape.

  No, she could not go to Lord Ninfield.

  Where then could she go unless she were to present herself at an inn or a hotel and seek work as a maid? But that would be absurd and she would soon be sent home because, although neither smart nor fashionable, she was clearly not dressed as a maid and, even were she to try to speak like a simple Kentish damsel, she doubted that she would be able to convince anyone that she did not belong to the upper ranks of society.

  She had no idea how one would go about finding a position as a governess – the only employment open to women of her rank; presumably such posts were advertised somewhere so that she would be obliged to write a letter and produce references; in any event, finding a job as either a maid or a governess was a matter which would take appreciably longer than a few hours.

  She could not simply ride into the night until she and the mare grew exhausted although she supposed that, once day broke, she could stop at an inn and bespeak breakfast. Perhaps, by throwing herself upon the mercy of the innkeeper’s wife, she would be able to find refuge. It was not that she needed – or wanted – employment for she had plenty of money, but she needed a goal of some sort.

  Reviewing her lack of friends and relatives, she at last hit upon the only one who did not live in Lenham Hall: Horatio. Unfortunately, so far as she was aware, he was in Vienna. He would take care of her and would, besides, provide a perfectly respectable haven; after all, he was, if neither precisely her cousin nor her brother, a young man with whom she had been brought up. But, where was Vienna and how was she to get there?

  She knew, of course, that it was the capital city of Austria and, from the rather sketchy knowledge of geography which her various governesses had attempted to instil in her, that Austria was somewhere in the middle of Europe, beyond both France and Germany. In addition, it was landlocked and surrounded by mountains. She knew too that England was no longer at war with France and that Napoleon, of whom the entire nation had been terrified, was no longer a threat. Beyond that, she knew very little about the political situation but, if she thought of it at all, she dismissed any danger because, after all, Horatio was in Vienna.

  She would go there – really, there did not seem to be much alternative. There must, she supposed, be some sort of equivalent to the stage coaches which tooled up and down the length and breadth of Britain. No
doubt she would be obliged to change several times but, once across the channel, that would not be particularly difficult. Having decided on a destination and on the first stage of the journey, there was no longer any doubt about whether she should turn left or right. She must turn left and that would take her to Dover whence she could board a boat to France.

  Feeling more confident now that she had made a decision – and one which she felt sure her family would not consider – she set off on the road in the opposite direction to the one they had taken the previous day.

  At this time of year the sun did not make an appearance much before eight so that Honoria and her mare made their way in a darkness illumined only faintly by a thin moon and a number of stars. It was, she thought, fortunate that it was a clear night although it was exceedingly cold.

  Towards dawn she decided that she had taken the horse far enough and began to look for a hostelry where she could purchase breakfast for herself and stabling for the mare. She soon found a posting house and turned into the yard. There was a great deal of activity taking place as a luxurious carriage was drawn up and attended by a vast number of ostlers running to and fro. As a consequence, nobody took much notice of her until she called one of these young men to help her dismount.

  “What is going on?” she asked as he set her upon her feet.

  “Oh, it is the Countess of Angmering. She comes this way several times a year on her way to Bavaria, I think it is.”

  “Goodness!” Honoria exclaimed, wondering if the Countess might be of some use to her. She was not altogether certain where Bavaria might be but guessed that it was, at least vaguely, in the direction she had chosen.

  “Does she travel by herself?”

  “Well, if you can call it by herself when she’s attended by half a village of servants, yes. I think she’s a widow.”

  “Is she quite an elderly lady?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss, I should say so. She’s certainly not young. She’s very grand. What are you doing here by yourself at this hour of the morning, Miss, if you don’t mind my asking?”