Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
Tags: #Aristocracy (Social Class) - England, #Historical Fiction, #Family, #Fantasy, #Great Britain - History - 19th century, #General, #Romance, #Napoleonic Wars; 1800-1815, #Sagas, #Great Britain, #Historical, #Fiction, #Domestic fiction, #Morland family (Fictitious characters)
Lucy shrugged. 'Well, as you ask me,' she said. 'It's her son
I feel sorry for. You can see how she makes him do just what
she likes by threatening to die if he crosses her. If I were him,
I'd do it,' she added fiercely. 'If she did die, he could go and live with the Ballincreas, which would be a great deal more
fun.'
‘Oh Lucy!' said Roberta.
But since that time she had kept a severe rein on her
tongue, and confined herself to observing Lady Serena with
the minute and horrified interest of an explorer encountering
a tribe of cannibals. Lady Serena had been extremely wary of
Lucy ever since, and called for her vinaigrette if she came too
near the sopha.
Everyone else treated her illness with the respect it
deserved, and so her languid comment on the Earl of Carlisle commanded instant attention.
‘
Related, ma'am?' Colonel Taske supplied the correct
encouragement.
‘
Oh yes, on his mother's side. The Sales, of course, are
related to all your great families. It's a distant connection, but
blood is thicker than water.’
Ballincrea, seeing quite clearly in Lucy's eye what she was
thinking, said hastily, 'The connection is enough, at any rate,
ma'am, to secure an invitation to dinner as well as the ball.
That is a great honour.'
‘
Oh, Carlisle does not forget what is due to family,' Lady
Serena said complacently. 'Remember that, Robert, when we are at Castle Howard,' she added in a sharper voice, 'and try
not to be so insipid.'
‘Yes, Mama,' said Robert colourlessly.
Lucy did not like to see bullying, of whatever sort, and
said, 'I'm sure the rain is less than it was. I think I'll go down to the stables and see how my horses are. Would anyone like
to come?' And she looked at Robert Knaresborough, who
blushed in confusion.
‘You'll be soaked, Lucy,' Roberta said reprovingly. 'Nonsence. What are umbrellas for?'
‘I'll come,' Helena said readily.
'I'm
tired of sitting.'
‘
You haven't sat down since breakfast,' Ballincrea smiled.
'But don't let that stop you. Off you go, Nel — and you,
Robert. Leave us old folk to the consolation of cards.’
Lady Serena bristled both at being classed with the old
folk, and at having her son torn from her side in such a
peremptory way, but while she was hesitating over which to
challenge first, Ballincrea went about getting up a table of whist, and Roberta asked her what she planned to wear for
the ball, and the other three took their chance and escaped.
*
In the drawing-room at Morland Place the company, being
less elegant, had less difficulty in finding something to do.
Edward was discussing with James his plans for growing more
corn, while Chetwyn lounged in an armchair, not reading a
novel. William had managed to get hold of a copy of Sir
Home Popham's
Telegraphic Signals or Marine Vocabulary,
which was beginning to be issued to the captains of ships of
the line. He was thoroughly absorbed with it, and commented
aloud to anyone who would listen.
‘
Extraordinary! I wonder no-one thought of it before. This
is a vast improvement on Howe's signals, I promise you.' He
looked hopefully towards Chetwyn, who was nearest him.
‘
Really?' was Chetwyn's polite response. Edward and
James, at the table, did not raise their heads.
‘
Not a doubt of it,' William went on, sufficiently encou
raged. 'Why, with this system, you can say anything you
want. You could have a complete conversation with another
captain a mile away, almost as quickly and easily as if he were
standing by your side! Nothing like it has ever been done
before. It's — it's
unparalleled!'
‘
How fascinating,' Chetwyn said, hoping that William
would not bestir himself to bring over the book to shew him.
‘
You see, as well as assigning a number to all the
commonly-used signals and a large vocabulary of useful
words,' William went on, undaunted, 'the letters of the
alphabet are numbered, too, so that any other word can be
spelt out. Of course, that would take a fair number of flags,
but I can see how it could be well worth while, in certain situ
ations.'
‘
So a message would be a series of numbers?' Chetwyn
said, since some comment was wanting.
‘
Of course. And to understand the message, you simply
refer —'
‘
But what happens if you want to use a number
as
a
number? Seventeen ships or forty marines?'
‘
You precede the hoist with the numeral flag, which tells
you the next group is a number, not a code,' William said
triumphantly. 'Simple, isn't it? The sooner we have this book
issued to the whole fleet, the better. When I think of the
number of times I've had to send boats, sometimes in heavy
seas, just to deliver a short message ...'
‘
Oh, quite,' Chetwyn said, stifling a yawn. 'I wonder if it
ever means to leave off raining?'
‘
Bored?' James looked up with a smile. 'You could always
walk across to Shawes.'
‘I dislike to get wet,' said Chetwyn.
‘Order the carriage, then,' James said with inexorable logic.
‘
It's too bad of you to let your wife go off to Manchester,'
Chetwyn returned with interest. 'If she were here, we could
have had a house-party of our own.'
‘
Never mind, you've got the Castle Howard ball to look forward to,' he replied. 'What a pity you aren't acquainted
with Carlisle, William.'
‘
I've half a mind not to go,' Edward said. 'It's too bad of
the earl to leave out William and his wife. He invited you, Jamie.'
‘
Ah, but I know his son. Morpeth and I served in the same
regiment together, years ago.’
William was unperturbed. 'I don't particularly want to go. I'm not fond of dancing, and Carlisle's got no influence with
Their Lordships. I must show this signal book to Mrs Smith,'
he added, getting up. 'She'll be most interested. I suppose
she's still upstairs with Fanny and Frederick?'
‘
I must say I admire her fortitude,' said Chetwyn. 'She
manages to spend longer in Fanny's company without
strangling her than ever I could.’
When William had left the room, Edward put down his pen
with a cross look. 'I wish you wouldn't be so unkind about
Mrs Smith.'
‘Unkind? Who?' Chetwyn said, raising an eyebrow.
‘
Both of you. Jamie reminding William about the ball, and
you talking about house-parties.'
‘
It's you that's unkind,' James retorted, 'trying to push the
poor woman into a position in which she wouldn't be
comfortable.
She
knows she can't be hostess in this house,
even if you don't. She spoke to me about it only this morning when I was in the nursery, asking me who it was you wanted
to invite, and wondering if it was a good idea.'
‘She's never said anything like that to me,' Edward said.
‘
Because she knows you won't listen. You can't invite people
of fashion to dinner and have her at the foot of the table, Ned,
however much you like her.'
‘
John and Louisa Anstey wouldn't mind a bit. They're
practically family.'
‘
Yes, but Sir Philip and Lady Goodman aren't. And do you
really want to expose her to Arthur Fussell's wit?'
‘
He's right, you know,' Chetwyn entered the argument
reluctantly. 'There are certain people who would regard it as
an insult.’
Edward turned on him. 'It's all your fault,' he said hotly.
'If you'd only behave properly by Lucy, and live with her as a
husband should, she would be here now and there'd be no
problem.’
James winced at the turn the argument had taken. 'Now,
Ned —'
‘
My fault, is it?' Chetwyn said, his face pale. 'Why is it that
you always take her part? You never ask yourself what I've
had to put up with.'
‘
I know she's wild,' Edward said, 'but she always was. You knew what she was like when you married her, but she would
never have gone so far if you hadn't neglected her.’
James moved rapidly towards the door. 'I think I'll go and
see how Fanny is,' he said. No man likes to be present during
an argument between husband and wife, and arguments
between Ned and Chetwyn tended to run a similar sort of
course.
*
The Aylesburys, Ballincreas and Knaresboroughs, being the
only members of the two households invited to dinner as well
as the ball, travelled together, taking Chetwyn's chariot and
Roberta's barouche. Roberta, both to save Robert Knares
borough from his mother and Lucy from a tete-a-tete with
her husband, observed that it was too far for Robert to travel
comfortably upon the barouche-box, and suggested that as he
was so slender, he might fit in the chariot without trouble.
Chetwyn had no objection, and for the first part of the
journey amused himself with listening to Lucy's attempts to
coax conversation out of the boy. He was just eighteen, and
since his father died when he was but eight years old, he had
had no male influence upon his life to balance his mother's.
She kept him in subjection, the more complete because it was
not apparent. He really believed her to be frail, and himself to
be her only comfort.
He was naturally shy, and Lucy evidently terrified him,
and though her attempts to draw him out were meant as a
kindness, he was in an agony of blushes until Lucy tired of
such a thankless task and dropped him in favour of staring
out of the window. For a time there was silence, while Robert
wondered how much more of the same was ahead of him at
Castle Howard, and Chetwyn brooded over his quarrel with
Edward.
In itself
it
was unimportant; it was the fact that it had
happened that was so upsetting. They had not used to quarrel.
In the beginning, Edward had gazed at him with adora
tion, and would never have thought of setting up his opinion
against him. All their lives
he
had led, and Edward, unques
tioningly loyal, had followed, assuming that Chetwyn, being
older and more experienced in the ways of the world, was
bound to be right. But now in taking Lucy's part against him,
Edward had shut him out, and he was lonely, and a little
afraid.