‘I don’t understand what you mean, papa.’
He sighed, with a hint of impatience. ‘The Penfolds have fine residences in England, Marianna. A town house in one of the best districts of London - Belgravia, it is called, hardly a stone’s throw from Buckingham Palace itself. And then there is a mansion in the county of Hampshire. I was invited to stay there once some years ago, when you were quite tiny. They live in the grandest style, I assure you — far more splendid than anything you have seen in Madeira.’
Marianna felt little prickles of excitement. ‘Are you saying that I am to go to England? Has Uncle William suggested it?’
‘If you are willing, my love.’
‘But of course I’m willing, papa, how could you think otherwise? It has always been my dream to go to England one day.’ The sheer wonder of it made her skip about, unable to remain still. A visit to England! To stay at a smart house in London, near Buckingham Palace, and even meet people in
society.
It was unbelievable. And a bit scaring! But above all wonderful, quite indescribably wonderful. ‘Oh, papa ... when? How soon am I to go?’
He gave her a small, anxious smile. ‘As to that, we must make plans ...’
‘Linguareira will be astonished when I tell her, won’t she? She can never have imagined she would ever leave Madeira, and now she’ll be travelling all the way to England with me.’
‘Oh ... well, perhaps you had better say nothing to Linguareira until I have consulted Mr Penfold. You may not need her with you. There will be servants in plenty. A trained lady’s maid especially for you, I expect.’ He drew on his cigar as he sought for words. ‘You’ll find a good friend in Mr Penfold’s daughter, I don’t doubt. She was a mere baby when I visited them, of course, but she is a delightful young girl as William has described her. Very like you in appearance, he tells me.’
‘And ... Ralph?’ Momentarily, Marianna’s excitement was flawed by the fear that the lordly young man in the photographs might treat her as gauche and immature. But if the Penfolds were so kind as to invite her to stay with them in England, she reassured herself, they would never wish to put her out of countenance. No, of course not. Ralph, like the rest of his family, would be thoughtful and considerate and utterly charming, ‘Shall I be taken about, papa, do you think, to balls and receptions and concerts?’
‘I am sure of it, my love. You will be the toast of London town.’
Marianna blushed, feeling overcome. But in a moment she was chattering on again. ‘How long shall I be staying? Will it be a lengthy visit? Oh, I do hope so, for there are dozens and dozens of things I want to see in England.’
‘My dear girl...!’ Her father had given her a startled glance. He scratched his whiskers in bewilderment. ‘I thought you had grasped my meaning, I quite thought so, without the need to... Oh dear me, this is a fine muddle! Child, it is not at all what you appear to imagine. You are to
live
in England, the Penfold homes will be
your
homes. In short, Marianna my love, in short ... Mr Penfold has travelled all the way from England especially to present an offer for your hand in marriage. There now, what do you think of that?’
Marianna stared at him openmouthed. It was astounding, almost beyond belief, that a young man who had never even met her in the flesh should be seeking her hand in marriage! Ralph Penfold only knew of her existence through his father. Of course, there were those photographs! She realized now with a quick bubble of excitement that Uncle William (oh, how naughtily cunning of him!) had intended all the time to take her along to Senhor Vicente’s, wanting to have some photographs of her that he could show to Ralph. She recalled him telling papa that he would like to see Ralph married ... and he actually considered
her
a suitable bride for his son! So he had encouraged Ralph to fall in love with her picture. It was quite wonderfully romantic, like a fairy story.
Her father, looking fixedly at the tip of grey ash on his cigar, went on, ‘I have intimated that the union will have my blessing, child. An alliance with the Penfold family would be ... convenient for me, I cannot pretend otherwise. These are difficult times, my love ...’ He spread his hands expressively.
Marianna was scarcely listening to him, grasping only the intoxicating fact that Ralph Penfold wanted to marry her and that both his father and hers seemed to regard it as a desirable match. Already she was more than halfway to being in love with Ralph.
Forcing down her excitement, she said demurely, ‘I shall be happy to accept the proposal, papa, if that is what you wish.’
Her words seemed to distress him. ‘Not just for
my
sake, dear girl, I beseech you. It must be what you yourself choose to do. Perhaps you need a little more time to consider?’
Why should she need more time? The prospect before her was frightening, of course, but deliciously frightening. Already her mind was whirling with thoughts of the sparkling life she would lead in England as the wife of such a handsome, elegant young man as Ralph Penfold.
‘No, papa, I am ready to accept,’ she said decidedly. Then amended, ‘I shall be very glad to accept.’
Smiling his relief, he came and took her head between his two hands, pressing his lips to her smooth brow.
‘You are a dear, good girl and your father is proud of you. Mr Penfold will be delighted. He has gone to pay his respects to the Civil Governor, but he will be here directly. The moment he arrives, I will inform him of your decision.’
* * * *
When Marianna returned to her bedroom, Linguareira was sorting through the garments hanging in the vast wardrobe of black til wood. To her
aia’s
inquiring glance she responded with a look of bland innocence and, shrugging, Linguareira went back to her inspection of Marianna’s dresses.
‘Your papa will have to understand that I can’t work miracles,’ she grumbled. ‘It’s all very fine his saying that no money can be spared for new clothes, but you’re at a growing age,
menina,
and there’s a limit to how far seams can be let out.’
Until very recently, to Marianna’s chagrin, her figure had stubbornly retained its boyish slenderness. All her contemporaries at the Misses Braithwaites’ academy were unmistakably developing bosoms, and it was a profound relief that at long last her own had started to swell. But this welcome fact brought a new problem. Many of her dresses were now uncomfortably tight.
‘Please find me something especially nice to put on,’ she begged Linguareira.
‘Merciful heaven! What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?’
‘I want, to look my best when Mr Penfold comes,’ Marianna could feel herself reddening.
‘Nonsense! The English
senhor
isn’t going to notice what you’re dressed in, child.’
Marianna stamped her foot impatiently, then at once felt a prick of conscience. Most likely she would be parting from her
aia
for
ever when her married life began, and it was wrong not to feel a little sad about this. She darted forward and planted an impulsive kiss on the olive-skinned brow.
‘Oh, I do love you, dear Linguareira!’
‘That’s quite enough of that, miss. What’s going on, I’d like to know. Something’s afoot, I can smell there is.’
It needed a supreme effort on Marianna’s part not to burst out her wonderful news. But she retained an outward composure and repeated her request that Linguareira should find her something more attractive to wear.
‘Oh, very well, though I can’t see the need. Here, what about this pretty sprigged muslin? I let it out for you just before we went up to the
quinta
so it ought to fit you as well as any thing does.’
Marianna had scarcely changed and had her hair brushed out again and tied with ribbons when Codface was at the door once more with the expected summons, grousing under his breath about having to climb all these stairs each time.
‘The master wants you down in the salon again,
menina,’
he rasped.
Marianna almost flew downstairs, then collected herself and paused a few moments in the ante-room to take deep, steadying breaths. She was aware that her eyes were shining and her cheeks a little flushed as she entered the salon.
The two men were standing by the open window, deep in conversation. Uncle William at once put down his glass of wine and came to where she hovered on the threshold, overcome with shyness.
‘Well, here is my little pet. And what a pretty dress! You look quite enchanting, my dear.’
‘Thank you, Uncle William,’ she mumbled, staring down at her patent leather pumps, noticing how badly scuffed they were.
‘Not
Uncle
William for much longer, eh?’ he said jocularly. ‘Now, I think a little kiss would be in order, don’t you?’
She caught the heavy sweet smell of Malmsey wine on his breath as he bent to her height, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. His lips, as always, were moist and his beard tickled her cheek.
There was an awkward little cough from her papa. ‘Should I... er... ?’
‘Yes, make yourself scarce, James, there’s a good fellow. Just allow me ten minutes, eh? That should be enough.’
With a nervous smile that begged Marianna to conduct herself creditably, her papa left the room. As the door closed behind him Mr Penfold took a step back and surveyed her assessingly, thumbs stuck in the pockets of his brocaded waistcoat and fingers splayed. Acutely embarrassed, Marianna kept her eyes lowered, glancing at him only through her long fair lashes.
His age, she happened to know, was precisely the same as her father’s, it having emerged by chance one day that they were born only a single month apart. But while her father looked considerably older than his fifty-three years, William Penfold could have pretended to less, being upright in bearing instead of stooped, which also made him appear much less corpulent. His complexion was healthier too, and there was a sprightly vigour to all his movements. His light brown hair, hardly touched with grey, was sparse on the top of his head and he wore it brushed straight across in an effort to conceal the deficiency; but about his ears it grew thick and curly. His beard was always neatly trimmed, and his hands well-manicured.
‘So it’s to be a match then, dear little Marianna,’ he said softly at length.
‘You must please explain your meaning, sir.’ She murmured it with a flutter of her lashes, deliberately imitating the young ladies whom she had watched conversing with gentlemen in the Funchal drawing rooms.
‘Don’t play the coquette with me, child,’ Mr Penfold said sharply, frowning his displeasure. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’
Marianna coloured. She felt hurt and foolish in the extreme. ‘I... I’m sorry, Uncle William. But I thought... papa said that...’
‘What did your papa say, I wonder?’ Receiving no answer, he went on, ‘Come now, it has all been agreed, has it not? I am told that you had no hesitation in the matter, none whatever, which I find most gratifying. Still, if you want the thing wrapped up in a parcel of pretty words, so be it. Marianna, dear sweet child, I am inviting you to become my wife.’
Her head jerked up and she stared at him in consternation.
‘You?
But... but...’
‘Now, now, no more of this foolish pretending. Come here and give me a kiss to set the seal on our betrothal.’
All in a moment he had changed from a kindly to a menacing figure from whom she wanted to flee. But she was rooted to the spot, petrified. As she shrank back from him, trembling, his voice cracked with authority. ‘I said come here, child. You will have to learn obedience, you know. This is a most inauspicious beginning.’
Marianna managed to retreat a single faltering step and bumped against a chair. It was enough to break the thread of tension. Galvanized into motion, she spun round and rushed to the door. She heard Mr Penfold calling to her to come back as she raced across the ante-room and out into the corridor, where she flung the doors open one after another in a frantic search for her father.
She found him in the small dark parlour that was his private sanctum. He was slumped in a wing chair with a bottle and glass on the table beside him. As he rose to his feet, startled, Marianna flung herself into his arms and stammered out her distress in an incoherent flood of words, confident that he would be as deeply shocked as she was by this horrendous misunderstanding.
Her papa held her a moment, then pushed her back from him gently. He passed a hand across his eyes in a weary gesture of incomprehension.
‘But whatever is the matter, my love? Why are you so upset?’
‘I’ve
told
you, papa. It’s Uncle William ...
he
is the one who wants to marry me. He himself, don’t you see?’
‘But who else? Who else did you suppose it might be?’
‘You
knew?’
she gasped. ‘But why didn’t you tell me? How could you imagine for a single moment that I would want to marry Uncle William?’
Her father’s left eye twitched with a nervous tic as he said slowly and clearly, ‘I explained to you, my love, that Mr Penfold had asked for your hand in marriage and...’
‘You didn’t, you didn’t! You said it was Ralph Penfold.’
‘Ralph! What rubbish! I said nothing of the kind.’
‘But you must have done, papa. At least...’
His voice was all at once agitated. ‘I sincerely trust you did not intimate to Mr Penfold that you expected to marry his son. Think carefully, Marianna, did you say anything to give him that impression?’
She shook the question away impatiently, but her father persisted. ‘Think, child! What exactly did you tell him?’
Marianna tried hard to remember, but it was all such a confusion of shock and horror in her mind.
‘I... I don’t believe I said anything, papa. I just ran out of the room.’
‘Thank heaven for that small mercy!’ Clumsily he refilled his glass and raised it to his lips; then, seeing the intensity of his daughter’s distress, he lowered it again without drinking. ‘My dearest girl, whatever put this nonsense about Ralph Penfold into your head? Goodness me, Ralph is only a boy.’