“What about the routs and balls?” Jane asked, distressed at the nature of the do’s mentioned. “And the Queen’s Drawing Room?”
“You have to go to them too,” Rex admitted sadly. “Pity, but it’s expected.”
“And the opera, and for rides and drives in the Park, but you needn’t waste much of your time at that slow stuff,” Foxey advised her.
While these two mentors outlined the glories of a season as they saw it, the knocker sounded, and Dewar was shown in, hot from London. His first glance, an extremely hostile one, was for Holly. He quickly looked around to greet her aunt and the others but, as soon as his social duty was done, he returned his smouldering gaze to Miss McCormack, then strode purposefully to her group.
“What’s new in town, Dew?” Foxworth asked.
“Where’s Swithin?” Rex enquired.
“Nothing. He’ll be here tomorrow,” he answered, looking from one to the other as he spoke. “Juliet,” he said, with a smile and a bow to Jane, “I trust you are keeping these two birds’ beaks to the grindstone. I have something to discuss with Miss McCormack.” He held out a peremptory hand, drawing her first to her feet, then off to a sofa set a little apart from the others, while she swallowed nervously, to consider what he might have to say.
“You know where I have been, and why?” he demanded.
“Yes, your mother was here yesterday. What had the doctor to say about Billie’s leg?”
“A good deal to say about that wooden frame Dr. John had screwed onto the poor boy. If he hadn’t got it off soon, Billie would be hopelessly crippled for life. I want to thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
She waved the thanks aside. “Can anything be done for him?”
“He will never be perfectly normal with respect to walking. Some slight limp will always be with him, but Dr. Halford—I took him to Sir Henry Halford—has hopes for a good improvement over the months. Hot packs, massage, exercise—Billie will have to stay at the clinic for half a year.”
“All alone? Oh, the poor boy!” she exclaimed, picturing the shy Billie alone amidst strangers, in a strange city.
“You wanted him cured!” Dewar charged angrily.
“Of course! Naturally I did, but he must be dreadfully lonesome. Could he not have these treatments at the orphanage, where he knows everyone. Dr. John could oversee....”
“It is that quack of a Dr. John who is responsible for the half of his problem. No notion how the condition should have been treated, and not the sense to have recommended him to a specialist.”
Holly took a deep breath and counted to ten, with no real alleviation of her temper. “Dr. John does not claim to be a specialist,” she began hotly. “He has
three times
to my knowledge recommended to Johnson that professional special help be brought in for the boy. When it was not done, he undertook on his own time to read up on the matter, and did his best to help. If his best was not good enough....”
“His best was a damned catastrophe. An infection was setting in. Luckily, it was caught at the beginning, before a real tragedy occurred. It could have resulted in losing the leg.”
“Well it would not, for I have spoken to Dr. John recently, and he said he would have to take the frame off for that very reason. He may not be learned in that special field, but he is a very good general doctor. He is no quack. He at least cares, which is more than can be said for
some
people.”
“It is impossible to care about something or someone you know nothing about,” he pointed out.
“It is your duty to know!”
“I hire people to attend to those duties. Johnson ought to have told me. He is in charge of the orphanage. In fact, he ought to have attended to it himself, long ago. Money was not
that
scarce.” His defence was presented firmly but, in his own heart, he felt derelict and, of course, guilt coloured his temper.
“Yes, he ought to have done something about it—told you, at least. But, as he did not, I daresay he did not tell you a few other things either. Billie is very shy.”
“I know that. I accompanied him to London. He hadn’t a word to say for himself, literally, for ten miles.”
“Well then, you can see how uncomfortable he will be there, amidst strangers. Surely Dr. John could carry out the treatment if the London specialist gave him instructions.”
“I wouldn’t trust Dr. John with a dog.”
“That is grossly unfair. I tell you he is a good, conscientious doctor.”
“My mother puts little faith in him.”
“Your mother, if you will pardon my frank speaking, dislikes any cure that does not appeal to her appetite. Her illness has become a hobby for her. You meant well to take Billie to London, but you would have done better to consult first with Dr. John, to discover Billie’s past history, and it would have been better to take John with you to consult with Sir Henry, to learn what should be done to treat the boy here at home where he would be comfortable. He is so shy he will not dare to tell them in London if he is suffering or—or anything.”
“You might have told me sooner!” he said angrily, scarcely able to keep his voice down to a dull shout.
“I didn’t know what you meant to do, or I would have told you. Dr. John’s feelings will be hurt too. You meant well—the impulse was kind, no doubt, but it might have been done in a more thoughtful manner. Dr. John would have been so flattered to go, and how he would have loved to meet Dr. Halford! He reads all his extracts.”
“Billie needs a specialist’s care, particularly for the immediate future, till that swelling has subsided. If it is possible to move him later, it will be done,” he said in a cold, flat voice.
Holly felt an inexplicable urge to laugh. It was hard to understand why he was so extraordinarily angry. And, as he was in such a temper, why did he knuckle under to every suggestion? Johnson always described him as 'very obliging’ to be sure and, as it was true, why had no one imposed on him sooner? She studied his profile silently as he stared across the room, trying to read his thoughts.
“That would be nice,” she said. He spared her one brief glare from the corner of his eye. “Thank you. I mean—not that it is my place—only I’m sure Billie did not think to thank you.”
His last view of Billie had been of a white, frightened face, with tears gathering in the eyes. Thanks, he thought, were not the words Billie would have uttered, if he could have spoken. It was hard on the child to have left him alone. The damned woman was right, as usual. Shaking all this aside, he asked, “How is the play coming along in my absence? Is Foxworth shaping up at all, under Juliet’s tutelage?”
“Not noticeably,” she confessed. A look toward the group told him the folly of having Jane act as coach.
“That was a bad notion on my part. She is too much distraction. I would have done better to put you in charge. I wonder you did not undertake to supervise them on your own.”
She swiftly tallied the number of insults he had combined in one thoughtless statement. She was not attractive enough to distract gentlemen; she was rude and overbearing; and the tone of the words must surely add a special insult of their own. “You overestimate my talents. I would not care to be responsible for such an impossible job. Mr. Prendergast….”
“You began to tell me of Mr. Prendergast on a former occasion. A friend of yours, is he?”
“Yes, a local gentleman. His family has a small estate nearby. When you put him through university, it was generally assumed you meant him to take over the school.”
“
I
put him through university?” he asked, with a blank look.
“So he says. I cannot think he would have any reason to lie about it.”
“It seems it is not only my neglect I am unaware of, but my philanthropy as well. You are much interested in Mr. Prendergast’s case, I think?”
“Everyone takes an interest in Mr. Prendergast’s case. He is our village romantic,” she explained. “He is young and handsome, you know—the classic case of a poor gentleman working hard to make something of himself. As Mr. Foxworth is totally uninterested in the play, and Mr. Prendergast really very eager to participate....”
Some slight stiffening of Dewar’s body brought her speech to a halt. “I do hope you have not given Mr. Prendergast any false hopes with regard to the role of either Mercutio or schoolmaster,” Dewar said, in his imperious manner.
“Oh no. He realizes very well all the blessings are yours to bestow, milord, when you eventually get round to it.”
“Good, I’m glad he does,” he answered curtly, then excused himself to go and speak to Juliet.
Homberly did not mind jostling elbows with Foxey, but when Dewar added himself to the girl’s circle he retired to the less demanding company of Holly. “See Dew is in a great pucker. Told him about the pony for the sugarplums, did you?”
“No, he is in a pucker about something else this time, Rex,” she answered, and laughed.
“Been thinking about what you said, Holly. About your not going to London. Pity.”
“I shan’t mind. I never expected to go, you see, and my hopes are not built up.”
“Still—your aunt going. Jane going. Seems to me it wouldn’t take much trouble to slip you into the carriage as well.”
“I will be needed here to look after the house. It is rather nice to feel needed, you know.”
“Demmed shame.”
When Lady Proctor saw Rex sitting with her niece, she moved to forestall his falling in love. “Holly, my dear,” she called across the room, “would you mind just taking a run upstairs to see if the boys are ready for bed? Nurse was to send them down to say good night to me. It is high time they were in bed. If they are, pray do not have them rooted out.”
Rex scowled into his lap to see Holly sent off like a dashed servant. Something ought to be done about it, by Jove, and he wished he could think of something other than offering for her. His own sister was to make her bows, but he had some little fear his mama would not appreciate having a spinster whom she did not know added to the presentation.
When Holly returned, her aunt promptly sent her off again, to see if Sir Egbert could not join the company in the saloon. How was she to bring Lord Dewar up to scratch, if Sir Egbert insisted in staying in his study all night long, as though he were still Squire Proctor, with no social duties? On Holly’s second trip, Lord Dewar as well scowled.
Sir Egbert came when he was summoned, but his notion of social intercourse was to sit with his wife and niece. There was no conversation with the others till the tea tray was brought in. “Your mama mentioned Sir Swithin Idle is to join your party soon,” Lady Proctor said to Dewar.
“Yes, I spoke to him on my way home from London. He is to come tomorrow.”
“Will he be in your play?”
“Not as an actor. He will be concerned with the production. He has often performed in the past but, as he comes so late this time, he will not take any role.”
Listening, Holly was struck with inspiration. She would not push Mr. Prendergast forward again. Sir Swithin must be Mercutio.
When Sir Egbert, hinted into courtesy by a speaking glance from his spouse, enquired of Dewar how his swine were coming along, the conversation turned to this rustic topic, which perhaps had something to do with the celerity with which the tea was drunk up, and the guests rose to take their leave,
“Boor!” was Lady Proctor’s condemning word to her husband. "I hope you can speak of something other than swine and manure when we go to London. I don’t know how I am expected to get your daughter a
parti
when her papa must insult every gentleman who comes into the house.”
“No one but that dandy of a Dewar would take it as an insult to discuss farming,” he defended, and left, wondering what he should have spoken of. Elsa had informed him on another occasion it was wrong to speak of money. He raised swine to make money. What else was there to talk about?
The next day, at rehearsal, it was made clear to everyone that Foxey was not pulling his weight. Every scene in which Mercutio had a part was held up by his lack of preparation. The others were no longer using their books but, even with his text in his hand, Foxey could not perform satisfactorily. He could scarcely read the words, let alone memorize them, or pronounce them with any force or expression. He frowned into his text, stumbling out the obscure phrases. “ ‘0 that she were an open
et cetera,
thou a pop’rin pear!’ Now really, Dew, what the deuce does this drivel mean? Imagine Shakespeare sunk to saying
et cetera
—thought he was supposed to know all the words. I refuse to learn this muck.”
When he was not on stage, he was causing a commotion in the pit, duelling with Tybalt, pestering Juliet, and generally upsetting the organization. When the cast took a break for tea, a group of the mature dames got together to discuss the matter. “I am surprised Dewar does not replace him,” Miss Hall said.
Several of the dames cast a meaningful glance on Holly. She shook her head firmly. “I have already hinted and been snubbed, I think his cousin, who is to arrive today, may do for the part.”
“Ah, very likely that is what he has in mind,” the ladies agreed, happy to have a solution without having to confront Dewar over it. He was very agreeable and obliging, to be sure, but everyone has a fault, and wanting—in fact insisting—that everything be done his own way was undeniably Dewar’s imperfection.
Mrs. Abercrombie, though she did not mention it, could hardly fail to notice that her stage had been lowered not inches, but three feet. The Misses Hall, too, had not been entirely happy to have their orange trees pulled out of their warm conservatory and hauled to the Abbey in the cold, to see how they would look in the orchard scene.
And as to the mead! A battle had nearly been precipitated over that point. Welsh nectar would have been ever so much easier (and cheaper) without adding any anachronism to the feast, but it was mead Dewar insisted upon, and was to have, while the Bartletts had the trouble of making it. No open hostility was allowed to be seen, but in the privacy of certain saloons there were a few uncomplimentary remarks exchanged.