Lady Susan Plays the Game (23 page)

By now he was brimful of his companion. He felt almost desperate to get close to that warm red body, to feel the breath going in and out, and the blood circulating under the white skin, to touch the smooth neck under the golden hair.

‘Perhaps we might tie up our horses and walk a little,' he suggested. ‘The ground is hard with frost and not at all muddy.'

‘I think perhaps not,' she replied in her gentle musical tone. ‘I fear the sky is growing grey in the east and we might even have snow.'

What delicacy
, thought Reginald,
what purity of response.

Although she had declared her intention to write to Sir James shortly, Lady Susan had in fact taken the precaution of doing so a week before, just after she had sent a letter to Madam Dacre informing her of her wishes regarding Frederica. She was quite sure that she herself must do the persuading when the time came: there would be trouble – the girl had probably grown romantic like most did at her age – and a mother would be needed to coax out common sense. It was not something that Sir James, with his weak head, could possibly accomplish alone.

While Frederica was being prepared for his addresses, Sir James's desire had to be kept focused. Alicia Johnson would help, Lady Susan was sure, but she thought it as well to give some direct encouragement. Sir James was an over-sexed young man and could easily be attached to someone else. Miss Manwaring had been kitted out with fashionable dress and accomplishments to catch him and she'd done so despite her plain face and poor figure. He'd thought she'd do very well, apparently. He had to be guarded against another such error.

So, when she wrote, Lady Susan alluded to Frederica's attractions in such a way as to heighten his interest. She also mentioned that her daughter would in time be ready to receive him at her school in Wigmore Street and perhaps they would all one day be able to meet there. But, for the moment, the young man must be patient and trust all to her management.

The letter pleased its recipient. Sir James was planning to escape to London at any moment but for now he was in Lincolnshire; he felt harassed by his agent who he felt condescended to him but he was still so attached to his dead mother that he feared to get rid of the man she had so valued. He responded warmly to some of Lady Susan's remarks, especially her intention to do all she could for him. But he was not impressed with her final instructions. He saw no reason at all to be patient, and who was he to be told what to do by another woman?

In his mind he held a vision of a modest, weeping girl – for he had last seen Frederica in this mode – enhanced with the whitest and plumpest bosom over which dangled tresses of fair hair, wet with tears. The hair was Lady Susan's, as he was dimly aware, but the skin and breasts were Frederica's. The tangled vision was enticing, indeed arousing. He didn't want to stew any longer in Lincolnshire – or indeed in London. It was time he acted on his desires. He'd made a fool of himself at the Langford stables but that didn't mean he would do so again or that the girl would always flee from him. Lady Susan had implied that warm blood flowed beneath the modest exterior. He would go to her and she would receive him this time – and without her mother's help. Lady Susan would be impressed with him. He was pleased at the idea. It was manly.

He thought carefully of what equipage to use. He was most proud of the phaeton and he would have liked Frederica to ride in it. But he could see it was not the season for an open carriage. His mother had not cared to be exposed in all weathers and he supposed other ladies felt the same. So he had his dark green travelling coach prepared instead. This too was new – or at least purchased after his mother's death – and had been sprung in a special modern way. It could look splendid when the bays were harnessed to it.

On the last day of the old year Sir James quit his estates to make his way to Madam Dacre's to see the girl who would share them forever. Despite ignoring Lady Susan's instructions he had no real anxiety about his reception. Frederica was shy in a maidenly way: when finally stirred by a young man, who knew what passion would be unfolded? Lady Susan had not exactly made this point but Sir James was sure she'd hinted at it.

He felt uncomfortably on fire as he sat inside the grey upholstered coach with old Ned the coachman on the box. He much preferred driving himself or feeling a fine horse beneath him, but he also appreciated the effect of a good equipage standing outside a London town house and a smart coachman mopping the horses. Perhaps Ned was not quite smart – there was something bucolic about him – but his yellow and grey uniform and his bright brass buttons were as fashionable as any in town.

After staying at various over-priced inns on the road where he'd been made much of for his generous tips, Sir James arrived at Wigmore Street feeling irresistible. He walked up
the steps of Madam Dacre's Academy without a prepared speech on his lips. He was confident. Frederica's unwillingness, her rejection and struggle in the garden and stableyard, had been unexpected but the memory was receding, overlaid by Lady Susan's encouraging words. He needed to be more forceful, he now felt. He knew he was strong. He felt better using his arms than his mouth. It was what a man should do.

The moment was not well chosen. Believing it unnecessary to acquaint her ladyship with the fact, Madam Dacre had gone to the country for a couple of wintry days leaving Frederica and the child Fanny with the housekeeper Mrs Dick and the servants. The above-stairs maids enjoyed the liberty and did not plan to have it curtailed by any need to watch over the two misses left in their care because no one wanted them. The girls had not endeared themselves to the servants with gifts or pretty ways, and they were not on familiar terms.

So at this crucial moment, Fanny was in the attic dressing up the cat in her own bonnet and lace collar and Frederica, having run out of tales of old barons, Emelys and Emmelines, and ignorant of how she could acquire more, was in the library. There at last she had had recourse to the few books, which had not been purchased in bulk.

All the volumes were kept in glass cases and were there to give gravity to the establishment. Frederica had studied the titles and come across a small group bound in the same manner as the sermons and clerical histories but with the titles
Pamela
,
Clarissa
and
Sir Charles Grandison
on the covers. Her eyes had opened wide, her pulse quickened. She had heard much of
Clarissa
, the eight volumes of which sat on a low shelf. From her other reading she knew that something very awful happened to the heroine of this amazing book.

It had been easy to remove the volumes one by one, for the cases were unlocked, Madam Dacre surmising rightly that no one was likely to purloin her tomes – except perhaps for these.

Frederica wished to take out all eight volumes at once and place them on the table before her to make a satisfying bulk, but she feared one of the maids or Mrs Dick would come in and berate her. So she'd removed the first volume only. At once she saw that it had already been read by someone in the school, perhaps one of the teachers or a pupil; the pages had been cut and a couple of corners turned down.

Over the next days she had read and read, volume after volume, and her involvement had increased. Now there was only one volume to go. The terrible thing, the ruin, had happened – though she remained unsure of its exact nature. Nothing like this had really occurred in the other novels, although it was always, always threatened.

How could anyone treat the marvellous Clarissa like this? With difficulty Frederica kept her tears from splashing onto the pages. Clarissa had been degraded, deflowered, and broken in spirit by the villain Lovelace who pursued her against her wishes with a vindictiveness that shouldn't be called love. After the act there was nothing left for her but to die. It was very dreadful.

Occasionally – just occasionally – as she read of the cruelty of the older women, her mother flashed through her mind but she insisted on expelling the image at once. There was so little resemblance between the beautiful Lady Susan and the ugly wicked Mrs Sinclair who had abetted her vicious master. More often she thought back to herself.

She too would have been as fooled as Clarissa by the lengths the wicked Lovelace went to deceive her; she too would not have known she was in a brothel or among prostitutes. Even now, having read so much, she was not absolutely sure she knew what a brothel was.

In the centre of all, impressing itself most forcefully on her consciousness was the pursuit, the constant hounding pursuit, of Clarissa herself, together with Lovelace's desire to take her virginity – she never quite understood the mechanics of this action but knew it was the most dreadful thing for man to do and woman to suffer – so reducing her from a heroine to something close to a whore. This had happened because Clarissa allowed herself to be caught, tricked into his power. While she read and mused, Frederica couldn't avoid thinking of Sir James; though she knew the parallel much too conceited, it would intrude, even against her will. Sir James had forced himself on her. Had he, she wondered in mounting terror, intended to do the unspeakable thing to her that Lovelace had done to Clarissa?

She shuddered. She'd tried to stand out against self-pity, Mrs Baines always preached that one should keep one's pity for others, especially the deserving poor. Now this book made her feel vulnerable, almost naked in a cruel world she didn't understand, and one that her father had not – she had to admit it now – quite prepared her for. She longed for the safety of Someyton as it had been, the dilapidated house with the eccentric old servants and loving family. The school building spread out around her, most of it empty, silent, full of shadows. She'd once feared the people in it and longed for solitude. Now she felt especially alone. For an instant she even wished her mother would come through the door.

So it was unfortunate that Sir James chose this moment on a dull grey afternoon to call at Madam Dacre's. In the library the knocking on the big front door crashed through the silence. Frederica started up, letting the book slip from her hand on to the table.

The knocking, clearly the end of a whip, grew louder and more insistent. This time it was even heard by the servants. Or, rather, they felt they could no longer ignore it despite being snugly grouped round a card table in the basement. They had glasses of hot mulled wine on the side, made up by the cook from some bottles Madam Dacre had forgotten she owned.

‘Better see who it is, eh, Mrs Dick,' said Cook, making no effort to move. ‘We're not expecting company, are we?'

‘Not that I know of,' replied Mrs Dick, ‘and I hope none of you girls has been encouraging gentlemen callers, certainly not at the front door. Imagine it,' she exclaimed as the vision of unwanted young men swam before her blurred sight.

But she supposed something must be done. So she roused herself and told one of the dishevelled housemaids to go upstairs to the front door and look through a sidelight. The girl took such time to rise from her chair that the knocks began again and more loudly than before. They sounded imperious, so the boy Joe was now dispatched instead and, since he was not famed for common sense, Mrs Dick reluctantly followed; it just might be a parent returning an unwanted daughter.

Joe opened the door with bad grace. He was a large lad but Sir James pushed him out of the way and entered. Mrs Dick smoothed her apron, pulled herself up to her proper height, and determined to teach the young gentleman some manners.

‘Good day, sir,' she said. ‘You'll be wanting Madam Dacre, I presume?'

‘I have come to see Miss Vernon,' boomed Sir James.

‘We do not allow our girls to receive young men alone,' responded Mrs Dick. ‘You are a brother, perhaps?'

‘I am not a brother but I wish to see her. I have her mother, Lady Susan's permission.'

‘I cannot comment on that,' responded Mrs Dick. ‘I am the housekeeper and the mistress is away. I can inform Miss Vernon that you visited but you should leave now and return when Madam Dacre is here. She will know Lady Susan's wishes.'

Sir James flushed with anger. How dared these women treat him like this? Only his mother had this liberty and she was dead.

‘I insist that I see Miss Vernon,' he barked. ‘I have every right to.'

Mrs Dick was eager to get back to the warm parlour and mulled wine. She could get the better of this puppy if she needed to but it would be quicker to give him what he wanted. It could do no harm with a house full of people. ‘Miss Vernon is in the library,' she said. ‘I will inform her that you are here. In the meantime, Joe will show you to the drawing room.'

The front door closed behind them.

From the first moment when she'd heard the knocking Frederica had sat still, all her concentration in her ears. Then, quite clearly, the unmodulated voice of Sir James crashed through her consciousness, that horrid sound that had caused her such misery in Langford, especially when it had been thrust into her ear at close range. He really was here, she'd heard him. This time it was no nightmare.

It was the work of a moment. Without waiting to put away the last volume of
Clarissa
Frederica leapt from her chair. She dashed up the stairs to the dormitory, desperately hoping she could get there without being spied. In the distance she heard the raised voices of Mrs Dick, Sir James and Joe.

She grabbed her blue cloak from her closet, no time to put on her stout boots. Then she stuffed her father's miniature and her few shillings into her purse, and started back down the stairs. She shivered as she went, already aware she'd not put on enough clothes. But there was no time. She heard Mrs Dick walking towards the library and entering.

There was a silence, then the footsteps returned, passing near where she was crouching on the stairway, ready to dash across the landing and down the servants' back stairs. Mrs Dick then proceeded towards the drawing room where Sir James was standing by the door. There was no fire in the room – Madam Dacre did not like extravagance – and he was cold.