by Lex Croucher
She stretched pleasurably, and then glanced over at Georgiana in her dress, bonnet and gloves.
‘Oh, George, you can’t be comfortable dressed for dinner with the Campbells.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Come, let us fetch more wine and you something more appropriate to wear.’
She led Georgiana inside, through the endless long, panelled corridors and up the stairs to her own dressing room, where she produced another robe like hers.
‘They’re French. Spoils of war, I suppose. Aren’t they hideous?’
Frances was only satisfied once Georgiana was identically attired in just her shift and the gown, although at the last minute she also looped some long necklaces over their heads, the combined value of which Georgiana was sure could pay for the Burtons’ house many times over.
‘See, now you are ready to bed a man or bathe in the lake at a moment’s notice,’ Frances said gleefully, reaching over to adjust Georgiana’s gown for her, then pinching her cheek fondly.
Georgiana hoped very much that she was joking, on both counts. Hot as it was, the greenish water of the lake was not particularly inviting, and she had recently read that most bodies of water in England were rife with eels. As for bedding a man – well . . .
She’d rather face the eels.
They passed the rest of the morning most pleasurably, aided by Frances’s never-ending supply of superior alcohol. Everything felt as if it was moving very slowly – the breeze jostling the silver birches, the scattering of threadbare clouds, and Frances herself, as she leaned too far off the chaise while telling an animated story about her childhood governess and fell quite gracefully onto the lawn. She didn’t bother getting up. As it approached one o’clock, a servant with impeccable posture marched from the house to murmur in Frances’s ear.
‘Luncheon! Oh, I almost forgot. Jonathan is coming for luncheon.’
When Georgiana sleepily made to get up, planning to go into the house and get dressed, Frances told her not to bother – so Georgiana stayed where she was, trying to wrap the robe more tightly around herself to preserve what was left of her modesty. Servants brought out chairs and a table, unfurling a tablecloth like a sail and setting three places with polished silverware, utterly straight-faced, as if it were completely unremarkable to host a dinner party on the lawn halfway to nudity.
‘Will they not tell your parents?’ asked Georgiana anxiously, once the last of the fine china had been carefully deposited in front of them.
‘Ha! No, they certainly will not,’ said Frances, pouring more wine. ‘Not because they live in fear of me, you understand – I am not some sort of despicable tyrant. They simply wouldn’t bother my parents with such trifles. There is enough discord in this house without adding complaints about my wardrobe, or the fact that I like to dine al fresco.’
Georgiana could not imagine what sort of discord could exist in a house so large that the inhabitants might go about their lives for a week without bumping into each other, but she didn’t think it polite to ask – and a moment later, Jonathan arrived.
‘Have I interrupted the two of you in the throes of passion, or are you only just out of bed?’ he asked, as he came to sit with them at the table, taking off his own cream-coloured jacket and removing his cravat immediately. He looked glamorously tired, dark circles under his eyes, his hair a little scruffy. He immediately took out a pipe of his own and lit it.
‘Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,’ Frances said.
‘It’s worse,’ said Georgiana gravely. ‘You should not mock us for our state of undress, Mr Smith, for you have just missed an incident which gave us cause to fear for our very lives.’
‘He has?’ said Frances, mildly interested, as she spilled a single drop of wine on the snowy tablecloth and studied it, frowning.
‘She’s forgotten it, in all the shock,’ Georgiana said, leaning towards Jonathan. ‘We were just lighting candles – to pray by, you see – when Miss Campbell’s dress set alight! I took off my own to beat the flames. Alas, they were both reduced to nothing but ash. A monstrous shame, but as you can see – completely unavoidable. So here we are.’
‘If you’re not praying for your souls, somebody certainly ought to be,’ said Jonathan, smirking as he ran a hand through his hair. ‘Franny, we’ve ruined this girl. It feels like just last week she was so young, so fresh . . . so full of hope.’
‘It was last week,’ said Georgiana.
‘She’s not ruined, she’s just a little . . . I don’t know, saucy,’ said Frances, winking at Georgiana.
They ate a four-course luncheon in the shade of umbrellas that Jonathan bid the servants bring – ‘to preserve my porcelain features, for the good of the populace’ – and at length, the conversation turned to Jeremiah Russell.
‘I know Christopher is a cad, but I think there was something in what he said about Kitty Fathering,’ said Jonathan as they ate decadent custard desserts. ‘I was with her brother playing a few rounds of hazard the other night, and he referenced some dreadful mischief that had resulted in Kitty being sent away to stay with friends in the country. You know what he’s like – upstanding military type, he wouldn’t say anything more – but she was seen with Jeremiah often enough last summer.’
‘Well, I consider myself warned,’ said Frances, in a slightly dangerous tone. ‘If you think I’m as stupid as Kitty, Jonathan, then you must think it’s a wonder I ever manage to string so many pretty words together into sentences.’
‘Don’t be like that, Franny. I only mean—’
‘I know perfectly well what you mean, and I don’t need your veiled warnings. It’s petty, Jonathan, all this jealousy. You are not my brother, and I don’t need protecting, so there’s no need for all this fisticuffs at dawn nonsense. Besides, the man is besotted with me. It’s almost embarrassing! Everybody can see it. You can see it, can’t you, George?’
Georgiana nodded in confirmation, mouth full of custard.
Jonathan sighed. ‘You’re intolerable.’
‘I know,’ said Frances, smiling now, her tone abruptly shifting. ‘But you tolerate me. I wish you were my brother, you know. Perhaps you are – perhaps you’re the product of my father’s dalliance with some handsome woman abroad. Maybe you were squirrelled away in secret and brought up apart from me. How wonderful that we’ve found each other, after all this time! I’m sure I have half a locket somewhere that would match up perfectly with one of your own.’
‘How wonderful indeed. Especially as, if that is the case, I’ll name your father as mine the moment his health falters, inherit Longview, and turn you out at once to live on the streets like the slattern you are.’
‘I’d like to see you try,’ said Frances, jabbing her spoon threateningly at him as if it was a dagger, but all was clearly well between them again.
Later, when they had been drinking a lot and talking about very little for quite some time, Frances tipsily entreated both of her guests to join her in the lake to cool off. Georgiana felt it best to stay on dry land after consuming such large quantities of wine, and Jonathan just raised an eyebrow at her and stayed where he was. Frances shrugged, took off her dressing gown and waded in up to her waist, shrieking and splashing.
Jonathan reluctantly slung his jacket over her shoulders when she got out, to preserve her modesty. Georgiana tried not to look, and failed; Frances didn’t seem to care a bit, merrily flicking a fine spray of water at both of them, causing Jonathan to swear quite impressively and threaten to drown her. They lay in a tangled pile on the grass as she dried off, Jonathan between Georgiana and Frances, watching the clouds scurry past overhead as the wind picked up.
‘Do you believe in true love?’ Frances said, turning her head to Jonathan and squinting at him.
‘I believe that money, breeding and a good set of teeth can conquer all,’ he replied, without much conviction.
‘Good God, Jonathan, that’s so romantic,’ Georgiana said, wrinkling her nose at him. ‘You should write a book.’
&nbs
p; ‘Some of us can’t afford to be romantic,’ he said pointedly.
Frances reached down and took his hand. Georgiana hesitated for a moment, but then the wine won out, and she took the other.
‘We’ve already got true love, anyway, my boy. You’re looking at it,’ said Frances, squeezing his hand firmly. ‘And besides, if it all goes to hell, I’m sure George will marry you. She’s got absolutely nothing to lose. No offence, Georgiana.’
When the last long fingers of summer sun had begun to retreat, Jonathan made his apologies and left, with both Frances and Georgiana crying out after him to stay (‘We’ll do anything! We’ll give you our wealth!’ ‘Our wine!’ ‘Our soft, innocent bodies!’). With Frances too cold and damp to stay outside any longer, they retreated to the fireplace in one of the Campbells’ many parlours, and played a rousing game of chess in which Frances seemed to be making up rules as she went along. She was just insisting that ‘horses are allowed to jump over whomever they please, in whichever direction – haven’t you ever seen a horse, George?’ when they heard a commotion in the hall, raised voices and the sound of dogs’ paws scrabbling on marble, and saw servants rushing past the open parlour door.
Frances scrunched up her face in disdain.
‘Panic in the hallways can only mean one thing; our liege lord returns. Damn. They weren’t due back until tomorrow. Quick – if we take the back stairs we can avoid difficult questions about . . .’
She gestured at herself and Georgiana, then snatched up the bottle of sherry they had been drinking and rushed from the room with Georgiana at her heels. They made it upstairs without incident; Frances told Georgiana to dress quickly so that they could make a respectable appearance and say good evening, and then disappeared off towards her own bedroom deeper in the house.
As Georgiana pulled on her clothes and tried to re-pin her hair, fumbling with alcohol-addled fingers, she suddenly heard voices through the half-open door – unmistakably Lord and Lady Campbell. Georgiana froze comically in place, listening. It sounded as if they were on the stairs in the entrance hall – the stairs which wound upwards and eventually passed right by her bedroom. Lord Campbell was shouting something in hard, furious tones, and she couldn’t help but strain to listen.
‘I am not a fool. I will not be made to look a fool,’ he snarled, in a voice that made Georgiana’s blood run cold. ‘You will not undermine me in front of my associates.’
‘I apologise,’ Lady Campbell said coolly.
‘You apologise? But you must do better than apologise, Joanna – you must make it right! Do you know what manner of ridicule I opened myself up to when I married you? Do you know how few men of good standing would have put themselves in my position?’
‘Yes,’ said Frances’s mother. ‘Yes, I believe you have made that perfectly clear.’
‘I did it for you, Joanna, for us – God help me, I thought you understood what a precarious position that might put me in – and yet this is how you repay me, for everything I have given you. Haven’t I been good to you?’ Lord Campbell’s voice had softened momentarily, as if he were pleading with her to see reason, but when he spoke again he was almost hissing his words. ‘You know full well that your behaviour was beneath you. It was certainly beneath me. Everyone was laughing at you, Joanna. And by extension . . . By extension, at me.’
Lady Campbell made no reply that Georgiana could hear.
‘Are you listening to me? Answer me then, if you can hear me! You certainly had plenty to say earlier – speak, woman!’
She did not answer – instead there came the sound of something large and heavy hitting an immovable surface, a shattering of china so loud and sudden that Georgiana flinched as if she had been the one to break whatever had been smashed. She heard brisk footsteps on the marble floor, and then all was silent except for the sound of a dog distantly whimpering.
Georgiana barely dared to move, but she suddenly wanted to be as far away from what had just happened as possible, as if the fury and the violence might seek her out, too. She slipped from the room silently to look for Frances, already resolving that there was no need for her friend to know what she had heard.
But Frances was leaning against the wall outside Georgiana’s bedroom, still in her shift, her eyes closed. She opened them when she sensed Georgiana’s approach and stared at her, saying nothing. Georgiana felt nausea rising in her throat as they both listened to Lady Campbell’s echoing footsteps for one long, excruciating moment as she walked away.
Georgiana went to speak, unsure of what was going to come out of her mouth, but Frances immediately turned on her heel and walked off down the hallway. Georgiana, at a loss as to what else to do, followed.
As it turned out, Frances had a very fine fireplace and a chess set of her own in her large, champagne-coloured bedroom, which looked out to the west over a vast expanse of hills and trees. They resumed their game, silently at first – but Frances snorted when Georgiana made the queen swoon coquettishly in the face of an advance from one of her knights, and slowly they settled back into mild conversation and moderate-to-heavy drinking. Frances was quick to smile now, joking about Georgiana’s serious expression as she moved closer to checkmate; she did not give any indication that she wanted to discuss what Georgiana had heard, or even acknowledge that it had happened at all. The house was so large that ten more arguments could have been taking place at full volume throughout and they wouldn’t have heard a word from this room.
They passed the rest of the evening as if nothing untoward had taken place, but when Georgiana became too tired and drunk to keep her eyes open any longer and suggested that she should retire to bed, Frances stopped her.
‘Stay in here!’ she said quickly, her fingers finding Georgiana’s wrist. ‘You’re so far away down the hall. Stay here, and we can keep talking as we fall asleep.’
Georgiana was much too exhausted to be good company, but Frances suddenly looked so fierce that she agreed. Maids were called to plait their hair and bring them fresh bedclothes, and to draw the curtains around the four-poster closed as Frances and Georgiana climbed, giggling, into it. The maids departed, leaving only a faint solitary candle burning on the dressing table, light flickering lazily through the gaps in the curtains.
Georgiana’s head was fuzzy, and the bed was exceedingly comfortable; she was nearly asleep when her friend spoke.
‘Do you ever wonder what it’s like?’ she whispered. ‘To go to bed with a man?’
Georgiana was glad of the gloom, so Frances couldn’t see her blushing.
‘I suppose I have,’ admitted Georgiana quietly. ‘Only a little.’
‘A little! What a saint you are,’ said Frances heatedly, and Georgiana laughed.
They turned to face each other in the dark, Frances’s hand almost touching Georgiana’s as she adjusted herself on the pillow. Her features were softened by the curls that had escaped her plait, tumbling across her forehead and brushing her neck, dark against the crisp, white sheets.
‘I must admit I found the whole thing quite disgusting at first,’ said Frances, ‘but my sister Eleanor said there reaches a point where you’re so close, and you like it, and no longer want to . . . stop. It sounds dreadfully uncomfortable. I certainly like the part where I think of Jeremiah in a state of undress, but the rest . . .’ She trailed off. ‘Eleanor won’t tell me anything more, that witch. It shouldn’t be some secret, you know, that married women keep. We should all know, so we can be thoroughly prepared.’
Georgiana laughed sleepily. Her thoughts had immediately turned, unbidden, to Mr Hawksley, who had looked so fine at Jane’s party. She tried to imagine him without his breeches on, and was immediately so scan-dalised at herself that she pressed a hand to her mouth. Frances didn’t seem to notice the disturbance; her eyes were fluttering closed.
‘Goodnight then, George,’ she said softly against the pillow.
‘Goodnight, Frances,’ Georgiana replied.
She was just drifting off when she felt a d
isturbance, some tiny movement in the bed with her, and she realised that Frances was shaking; her shoulders were shuddering, but in such small increments that it was almost imperceptible. Georgiana was about to ask if she was unwell when she realised what it was – Frances was crying.
It seemed so out of character for her to cry that Georgiana had no idea what to do. She wondered wildly if it was best to pretend she hadn’t noticed, to preserve Frances’s dignity, but then she spoke.
‘I can’t stand it,’ she whispered bitterly. ‘It’s been dreadful since Eleanor left to be married. Or . . . perhaps it was always this bad, but she managed to shield me from it.’ She rubbed at her eyes furiously, and Georgiana reached for her arm in an attempt to comfort her. ‘My father acts as if my mother – as if she tricked him somehow, as if he didn’t pursue her. He rages and rages, and he breaks things, and then the next day all is always forgiven. The mess cleaned up, as if it never happened. And my mother is right back on his arm, until some small thing sets him off again – and God forbid anybody who gets in his way.’ Another tear escaped, and she brushed it away.
‘Frances, I’m so . . . I don’t know what to say,’ Georgiana said uselessly. ‘Is there nothing to be done?’
‘God. No. Who would care? Who would think his behaviour unusual, even? They all think . . . They thought he was mad to marry her. No. This is just how it is.’ Frances took a deep breath to steady herself. She found Georgiana’s hand on her arm and clasped it so tightly that when she removed it, her nails had left little half-moon grooves in Georgiana’s skin. And then the sheets rustled, and Frances was turning towards her.