Olivia Page 9

  The first partner she put forward was Captain Tierney. The name was familiar from occasional references to him made by Dottie. Alice had never breathed a word of her infatuation with the fellow, but it was there to be read in her glowing eyes.

  Tierney was a well set-up gentleman; any man who is not actually ugly or deformed looks well in a scarlet tunic. He was of medium height, his conversation sensible but not scintillating. His dancing too was passable, without rising to any such level as graceful. I had no real complaint against Tierney. He would do for some genteel lady, but with no fortune or title behind him, I really felt Alice might do better for herself. I knew from Dottie that Lady Synge felt the same.

  When Alice shyly asked me, after the dance, what I thought of him, I could not like to praise him too much to her. “He seems gentlemanly,” I told her. "There can be no harm in your having a dance with him. I would not stand up for a second if I were you. It would look a little particular, as though you were giving serious consideration to an officer.” I gave a light laugh to show her how ineligible any mature person found the idea.

  “He is a captain,” she pointed out, “not a mere lieutenant.”

  “Yes, my dear. That is what makes it quite all right for you to have one dance with him. Who is the dandified little man you were dancing with just now?”

  “That is Harmsworth,” she said, with no great enthusiasm.

  This name too was more than familiar to me. Alice was often out with him, and he was often in Lady Synge’s saloon. He was the suitor favored by her mama, and it was a great pity he should turn out to be what the bucks call “a skirter,” which is to say there were some traces of femininity in him. He was small, daintily formed, wearing an outfit that bespoke the dandy. In appearance he did not compare well with Tierney, but how appearances may deceive!

  When I met him—I asked Alice to present him to me—his superior breeding was clear at once. None of the dull, cloddish trotting out of facts that one heard from a Tierney. No, a peer whose family had been titled for five hundred years, he knew what mode of conversation was eligible for a ball. He was monstrously amusing, very whimsical in his talk.

  “Miss Crowell speaks a good deal of you. All she says is to your credit, Ma’am,” he began, bowing with a fine flourish.

  “Kind of you to say so. I believe I have heard a mention of yourself as well, milord,” I answered, with a civil curtsey.

  “Pray do not repeat it! One should speak only well of the dead. I am dead on my feet, you must know. Your charge killed me with a careless word last dance.”

  “What did the thoughtless girl say to do you in?” I asked, entering into his raillery.

  “She said she prefers a scarlet tunic to my puce jacket. Now you must own it was an incredible cruelty. The evening just begun, too. I shall have several hours in which to regret not having worn a scarlet jacket, but I was afraid of being taken for a postman. Lacking only the bell and bag.”

  “She is not so foolish as she leads you to believe. It is not what jacket a man wears, but what is beneath the cloth that counts.”

  “I have an unaccountable notion she prefers broad shoulders to narrow as well,” he admitted with a charming smile of disparagement.

  “Physique is of little account. A plough horse is larger than a thoroughbred, but most folks would prefer the latter I think.”

  “You are an angel! Will you intercede on my behalf

  with the fair Alice?”

  “When I come to know you better I may, Sir.”

  “I shall be at pains to know you much better,” he said.

  So he was, too. One set of dances was not enough for him. He must fetch me a cup of champagne afterwards, and find a secluded corner for us to become better acquainted in. I heard all his family history. He was from Hampshire.

  “What is called the New Forest area, due to its being one of the oldest forests in the country,” he explained. “My ancestors came over with William the Conqueror, as many in the area did. It is believed to have been the hunting that lured my ancestors hither.”

  Doris, my stepmother, was from the same area, but I made quite sure the descendants of Norman aristocracy were not familiar with her kin, and did not bother to mention the circumstance. “That is where the Red King, William Rufus, was killed in a hunting accident, was it not?”

  “Alice told me you know everything. I made sure she was exaggerating, but I see it is not the case. If you say it is where Rufus met his end, let it be so. I daresay one of my ancestors did him in. This dislike of gentlemen who wear red goes back a long way in the family tradition.”

  “Actually I believe it was his hair that was red.”

  “Anyone with red hair deserves to be shot. Where are you from, Miss Fenwick?”

  “My home is in Bath, where my father is Dean, but before coming to London I was staying with my cousins, the Monternes, at Dawlish.”

  “You are related to Debbie? I had not heard it.”

  A subtle difference crept into his demeanor at this mention of my family. Not that he was not perfectly respectful before. He was, but respectful in the way of a lord to a lady of uncertain background. He now began treating me as a perfect equal. “Are you also related to Alice?” he asked.

  “Only by friendship. I am staying with them till Dottie is out, as a sort of governess,” I added, laughing.

  “I had come to realize from Alice’s frequent references to you that you were an extraordinary lady; I did not half appreciate you till we met. There are not many ladies in your position who would feel it desirable to perform any useful function while awaiting the time they decide to marry. I think it an excellent thing myself. Much more interesting than wilting about a deanery in Bath, and so advantageous for the Crowell girls to have the privilege of your experience for a short space of time.”

  He understood precisely how my mind worked. “I did find Bath a trifle confining,” I admitted. “Particularly after my father remarried. London offers so much. I often have my tilbury harnessed up and take Dottie and Alice to a museum or art exhibit in the afternoon. There are the theaters and routs in the evening.”

  He nodded approvingly. There was so much admiration in his eyes I was beginning to fear Alice would think I was stealing her beau from her. To remind him of my reason for getting to know him better, I said, “In fact, we plan to visit the new exhibit at Somerset House tomorrow around 2:00. Perhaps we shall see you there? I refer to your asking me to intercede for you with Alice.” The last I added in case it sounded as though I were attempting to set up a meeting on my own behalf.

  “I shall bear it in mind,” he said. He suggested we meet for another dance later on, but I declined, very

  politely.

  I had a place at dinner beside Lady Monterne with a very select party. After dinner, Jack condescended to ask me to stand up for a waltz, and I condescended to accept, as I particularly adore waltzing. He went out of his way to be unpleasant. “I noticed you spending a deal of time with that bleater of a Harmsworth,” was his first speech. “Not at all the thing you know, Miss Fenwick.”

  “A strange way to speak of a guest in your own house, Jack.”

  “There are plenty of people here I would not care to see a friend or relative become too intimate with. Fortune hunters, rakes…”

  “Which category do you place Lord Harmsworth in?”

  "The former. He ain’t man enough to be a dangerous rake.”

  “He is well spoken of at Synge’s house, where he runs quite tame.”

  “There is a good deal goes on at that house that defies rational explanation.” I thought there was a dig at their having hired me, but I believe I was looking for offense where none was intended.

  His next speech was, “You are well needed there, Livvie.” I noticed he had slipped from the stiff Miss Fenwick to Livvie, as he used to call me before the wedding. “You might bring some common sense to the household. You can begin by having Synge turn Harmsworth from the door.”

 
I was not of a mind to have an argument at a ball, so complimented him instead on the decor of the ballroom, without mentioning the fence was too high. I asked how he and Debbie were enjoying London. The waltz passed without squabbling and without any invitation to future do’s the Strathaconas might be planning. Jack dumped me as quickly as he could, alone at the edge of the floor.

  Looking around for a familiar face, I noticed Philmot was regarding me from across the room. He was with a group, mostly female, with Mrs. Dexter protecting her property as best she could. I was piqued he should catch me without a single man to lend me consequence, but only Jack, departing as fast as his two long legs would carry him.

  Whether Philmot even realized I had been with Jack was debatable. In any case, he was gentleman enough to come to my rescue, and I grateful enough not to be sharp with him, for I was really having a remarkably dull time, after all my high anticipation.

  “I was happy to see you steer Harmsworth away from Alice,” he said, after the preliminary remarks were finished. "I dislike the way he has been dangling after her lately.”

  “I was of the opinion your sister approved of him, liked him better than that officer Alice has in her eye.”

  “Neither one is eligible. Alice is too young to be marrying yet. Another year on the town will do her a world of good. It was kind of you to draw him away a spell, and let her get back in with her own set. Not one of the brighter interludes of your own evening, I fancy.”

  “On the contrary. I found him amusing and conversable.”

  “He can be amusing enough when he wants. He must think you are an heiress if he bothered to insinuate himself into favor. It would be the elegance of your toilette led him astray,” he added, his glance flickering off my mother’s diamonds with a little surprise I think.

  “He is pretty well aware of my situation. Is Harmsworth without fortune, or what is amiss with him? His breeding I know to be unexceptionable. His family goes back to the Norman Conquest.”

  “He’s a gambling fool. Been living on tick and postobits for several years. They say he has the bailiff in his house this minute, but that may be an exaggeration. There is money in the family, of course. He may come round one day, if he marries well to tide him over the near term.”

  “That is not a very uncommon story, is it? Most gentlemen seem to live beyond their means.”

  “It is because they have not a Miss Fenwick to manage them. Synge has been complaining—ahem, saying you have lately taken an interest in his accounts. You’ll catch cold at that, Miss Fenwick. Better confine yourself to the girls.”

  “I do not interfere with Synge in the least. What your sister may have said to him has nothing to do with me.”

  "That ain't the way I hear it. Shall we argue or dance?” he asked, as the sets began forming. "A cotillion. How gay. We must use all our wits to remember the steps and figures, if we are to participate.”

  "I believe I have wit enough to dance and talk at once.”

  "I am not so talented. I prefer to argue, if you have no serious objection?”

  "If you are not asking me to dance, Philmot, then I cannot very well accept, can I?”

  "Extremely logical, as I might have expected from Miss Fenwick, even at a ball. Come, I’ll get you half a dozen glasses of champagne, and try if I can make you tipsy to see if you know how to talk foolishly, or are only good for spouting common sense.”

  “I hope I am not so ill-bred as to talk sense at a ball!” I answered jokingly, remarking how he, like Harmsworth, displayed that superior breeding that sets the nobleman apart from the rest. I had got enough good blood from my mama that I could keep pace with him. We talked the greatest nonsense for half an hour, during which we consumed two glasses of champagne each, not six.

  “I had no idea the redoubtable Miss Fenwick was capable of outright nonsense,” he complimented me, before we had conversed for five minutes. He said it in an approving way, with a warm smile. "You ought to drink champagne more often, to loosen your tongue.”

  "Why, I don’t have to be tipsy to talk foolishly, Philmot!”

  "We are being nonsensical, not foolish. There is a world of difference. Any dull old fellow might be foolish; nonsense requires a keen mind. It is intentional foolishness, and to be lauded as giving the tired brain a rest from rationality.”

  "A sort of verbal waltz,” I went on, expanding on his thought, "to rest the linguistic legs from the strict pace of the cotillion.”

  “Precisely. Folks may say what they like about man’s differing from the lower animals by his ability to laugh or cry or read French, I say it is our talking nonsense that sets us apart. Have you ever heard a dog talk nonsense? Devil a bit of it.”

  "Of course not! They always want to talk politics or economics.”

  There was very little sense spoken during the entire half hour. Before he left, Philmot said, “Well, it is a great pity you have decided never to marry, Ma’am, for you would be a decided advantage at the head of some gentleman’s table.”

  “Surely he would expect to fill that chair himself.”

  “Now you are beginning to slip back into sense. I shall take my leave before you compose a lecture on the management of my stables.”

  Philmot’s manners were a cut above Jack’s. He presented me to another gentleman and heard him ask me for a dance before he took his departure. The remainder of the evening was excellent, just as I had envisaged. One interesting partner led to another, all gentlemen of the first stare. I think it safe to say I enjoyed myself better than Philmot, whom I happened to spot from time to time. He was not laughing and engaging in nonsense, to judge by his demeanor. In fact, he looked bored, especially when he was with Mrs. Dexter. I went home with my head in a whirl, to be told by my employer I must sleep in late the next morning, as I did at Monternes’.

  Chapter Ten

  I envisaged a whole new sort of life opening up before me. Now that I had established social contact with Debbie and Jack, I would receive further invitations from them. They had spoken of a water party, for instance, that sounded novel and pleasant. Philmot had been more friendly than formerly. As he was a great friend of Jack, I would see more of him, and by degrees might make the acquaintance of some of his literary friends, such as Miss Burney. While awaiting this prized future, however, a few mishaps occurred.

  First, there was the matter of the trip to Somerset House, and the rendezvous with Harmsworth. As it turned out, Alice decided at the last minute not to come with us, which put me into a bit of a quandary. I had said we would be there, and for none of us to show up was too rude. I must go and make our apologies, taking Dottie with me so he saw it was not a ruse on my part to further the acquaintance with him for my own ends.

  He was desolate, but tried to hide his hurt by being gallant to Dottie and me. He took us on a tour of the portraits, amusing us throughout with very droll stories of the ladies and gentlemen who looked so very proper, but were each and every one a rascal, if half his tales were to be believed. He offered to take us for a drive afterwards, but I had driven in my own tilbury.

  “Your own tilbury?” he asked, vastly impressed. “What sort of governess is this who wears diamonds to balls, and has set up her own carriage?”

  “Oh a very superior sort of governess, to be sure,” I answered.

  “Also a very charming one. I hope she is sympathetic as well, and brings Alice to meet me on another occasion."

  “Something might be arranged. But you are hardly persona non grata at Russell Square, Sir.”

  “Oh Russell Square,” he scoffed. “To be one of her court—that is no good. It is much more romantic to meet her by secret tryst, especially if she is escorted by her governess, to play propriety. Where will you be tomorrow, Ma’am?”

  “I fear Alice will not be with us tomorrow.”

  “Then I shall meet you and Dottie, to make her jealous,” he answered quickly.

  There was a little touch of seriousness I could not like to encourage. We took our l
eave, with no promise of meeting him again by appointment.

  It was not at all late when we left. Dottie had been plaguing me to give her a few lessons with the ribbons. With this end in view, we drove out of town, towards the Chelsea Road. We turned off down a lane that was completely private, for I did not wish her to encounter any wild bucks hunting the squirrel on her first lesson. She went on famously for a mile, pleased with herself, though it was hardly a challenging trip, a straight road with no other traffic. We were getting rather deep into the country by this time, so I decided to have her turn around. At the first farm, we would do so.

  Unfortunately, the first farm did not appear. For half a mile we drove onwards, till at last we decided to try to execute a turn in the middle of the road, a thing I would never do in traffic, but with all the time in the world to maneuver, I could see no danger in it. The more fool I!

  The thing proved not only difficult; it was impossible. We got the team to turn well enough, though it was necessary for me to take over the ribbons to accomplish it. Once the team were turned, it became obvious the roadway was not wide enough to let the carriage follow without going into the ditch. It proved equally impossible for the carriage to back up to allow the team to resume their normal position in front of it.

  We were firmly stuck, with the team becoming restive at the edge of the ditch, while the carriage was sideways, blocking the road. No amount of pushing, shoving or urging altered the case an iota. After a quarter of an hour, I decided to try if the carriage could take the ditch and come out with all its wheels intact. To make short work of my story, it could not. Its descent into the ditch, quite a steep one, was more precipitous than I had envisaged. Once it got started, it rushed forward wildly, causing considerable fear for the team, who were pulled sideways behind it. I expect I should have unharnessed them. I did so then, too late.