Danse de la Folie (12 page)

For a time the sight of unfamiliar country was interesting,
but after all it was much the same as the parish she knew: hills, trees, the
snow-topped roofs. Clarissa’s eyes were closed. Kitty snuggled down deeper in
the carriage rug, her eyelids drifted shut, and the next thing she knew, she
woke when the carriage had ceased to move.

Men’s voices shouted unintelligible words outside, amid
laughter from one. Kitty looked around, startled awake, to discover Clarissa
gathering the folds of her traveling cloak about her.

“Have we reached your home?” Kitty asked.

“Oh, no, we have a long way to go yet,” Clarissa replied.

“It will be dark very soon. Where are we?”

“I believe I recognized that bridge, which means we must be
arriving at the posting house in Thames Ditton. I know my father keeps horses there.
Mr. Bede—”

The carriage door opened to a burst of cold air. Mr. Bede
appeared, his nose red with cold, ready to hand them out.

The carriage steps had been let down. Mr. Bede and Oliver—who
had arrived the night before—were there at either side to make sure the young
ladies did not slip and fall as they stepped to the slippery, slushy yard.

Kitty followed Clarissa to the door, where the landlord
stood bowing and smiling in a gratifying way. Clarissa did not seem to notice
the bustle to make them welcome, but Kitty did, and enjoyed every moment as
they were conducted to a parlor pleasantly warmed by a substantial fire.

Clarissa sat down and pulled her gloves off.

Kitty said, “Do you still have the headache? Shall we ask
for a tisane?”

Clarissa said, “It is nothing—it will soon pass off, thank
you.”

Kitty said everything that was polite, though she could see
in the way Clarissa’s eyes narrowed that the headache was real.

When Rosina appeared, and said that the bedchamber was
ready, Clarissa excused herself to lie down for an hour, promising that she
would be better company once she had rested her head.

The parlor had been equipped with several back numbers of
La Belle Assemblée
. Kitty picked up the
most recent of these, and began leafing through the fashion plates. She was
much entertained by imagining herself in this or that mode, mentally
subtracting various embellishments which the artist had seen fit to cumber the
doll-like ladies depicted.

She was startled to hear a female voice in the hall before
the door was opened by an impatient hand.

Kitty beheld a young lady in the muslin gown, mittens, and
severe bonnet of a schoolgirl. This girl caught her breath on the sob and
dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. “Oh!
Pray
excuse me, that is, I did not know...”

With ready sympathy, Kitty said, “I assure you, it is of no
consequence. Do you need help?”

The girl, thus encouraged, stepped in, shut the door behind
her, and burst into a noisy tears. “I wish you could,” she cried. “That hateful
wretch. I hate him!”

Kitty stared in amazement, then exclaimed, “Are you being
abducted?” The moment the words were out she was embarrassed both by their
unlikelihood and by the small surge of excitement that she felt.

If the lady was discomposed by Kitty’s hopeful tones, she
evidenced no sign. Her tear-drenched honey-brown eyes regarded Kitty in wide
question, then narrowed in intent. “Yes,” she said briskly, the tears gone, the
tremble vanished from her small mouth. “Do you perchance have a carriage? Are
you about to depart? If I could escape this very instant, all Might Not Be Lost.”

Kitty heard the capital letters, and her sympathies kindled.
“We do have a carriage, that is, it is not mine, but I know my friend would be
happy to help—”

The door opened again. This time the entrant was a tall,
powerfully built gentleman in a many-caped driving coat. He looked exactly like
a Greek god. An angry one.

And here at last is the fourth dancer, who was deeply
chagrinned to open the door and find a stranger young lady within. “I beg your
pardon—” he began.

“Oh,
no!
” the
schoolgirl cried.

Kitty looked from one to the other, her mind leaping to the
obvious conclusion—that this was an abduction.

She heroically placed herself between the Innocent and the
Ravisher, and turned to the former. “Is this your hateful wretch?”

“Yes,” the girl cried, and once again burst into a storm of
tears.

“Bess—” the man attempted to speak again.

This time he was interrupted by Kitty. “Wretch indeed! Why,
you almost look old enough to be her father.”

The man looked completely thunderstruck. Then color flooded
his well-chiseled cheeks as he drew up in hauteur. “Ma’am, if you would kindly
accord us a moment of privacy—”

Though Kitty craved romance, she had never dreamed that she
would attain the exalted heights of actually assisting in foiling a real
abduction. If only the man wasn’t so handsome—but then
handsome is as handsome does
, as Kitty’s grandmother used to say
rather too often.

“If you intend to drag this child off, you must go through
me,” Kitty stated head held high. And to the young lady, “What little
protection I can offer you, make sure I shall.”

“Beast!” Bess declared, peering past the protection of Kitty’s
shoulder.

“Coxcomb,” Kitty added. “Rake!”

“Bess, what did you tell this lady?” the gentleman asked in
a tone of extreme vexation.

“Monster!” The young lady popped around long enough to
retort.

Though Kitty knew little about romance, she had enough
experience with brothers to recognize a taunting tone. That was puzzling. If
she were being abducted, why did Miss Bess sound like she was gloating?

Kitty was about to frame a question when the door opened
again, and Clarissa entered, saying, “I thought I heard a familiar voice —
Philip?
”

“Oh, my,” Kitty breathed.

“Bess?” Clarissa went on. “I thought I recognized the
carriage in the yard, but I couldn’t be certain. How come you two here?”

“Elizabeth!” the young lady declared, emerging with arms
crossed.

“I beg pardon, Cousin Elizabeth,” Clarissa said, with no
evidence of surprise.

A profound silence ensued, during which Kitty’s entire body
flamed with painful prickles of embarrassment.

Bess was the first to speak. “At least
one
of my relations is kind enough to call me
Elizabeth,
and
not
address me like I am a
mere child
,”
she muttered.

“Good day, Cousin Clarissa,” the gentleman said. “We are
just arrived this moment.” He turned an exasperated glance Kitty’s way, but
good manners constrained him from speaking until they were introduced.

“Jupiter,” Kitty exclaimed, and blushed the more, thoroughly
vexed with herself for permitting one of her brothers’ expressions to escape
her lips. She turned a reproachful look on Bess. “It is quite wicked to tell
untruths, particularly to strangers who are trying to help you.”

Bess stamped her foot. “It
is
true. He
has
abducted
me.”

“Bess,” the gentleman said, in no tone of approbation.

“I do not
wish
to
go back to Bath,” Bess stated, and dissolved into tears.

Clarissa advanced into the room, suppressing the urge to
laugh. In her best company manner, she said, “may I make you all known to one
another? Kitty, my cousins Devereaux. Cousin Bess—”

“Elizabeth!”

“I beg pardon. Cousin Elizabeth and Cousin Philip, may I
present Lady Catherine Decourcey, who is accompanying me to Oakwood.”

Mr. Devereaux made a stiff bow in response to Kitty’s equally
stiff curtsy, then said in a low undervoice to Clarissa, “I must thank you.
Your entrance interrupted the third farcical tragedy I have had to endure this
day.”

Kitty had been determined to remember her company manners,
but that resolve was overwhelmed by a tide of embarrassment. With the freedom
she used when talking to her brothers, “I daresay if you had not stepped in
here looking
just
like a villain,
without so much as a knock...”

“Ma’am,” the gentleman responded, in accents of extreme
chagrin. “I was referring to my unfortunate sibling, but in any case, I beg
your pardon.”

Clarissa interposed herself. “Perhaps, Kitty, if you would
take Bess to wash her face and hands...”

“I hate him,” Bess declared, sobbing loudly.

Kitty was all too happy to get herself out of the room. She
indicated the door to the angry girl, who said over her shoulder, “If you feel
the need to send for the Bow Street Runners to guard the room,
pray
do so.” And seeing that this shot
had not the effect that she had anticipated, Bess added, “No doubt if I were to
die on the spot, you would be cast into high glee.”

Kitty pulled the door shut, and drew the sniffling girl
farther down the passage to. her bedchamber, where Bess flung her bonnet to the
floor, and flounced to the only chair.

Kitty picked up the bonnet, saying sympathetically, “Can you
tell me what happened?”

“Oh, the
stupidest
thing.” Bess scowled. “I was sent down from Miss Battersea’s Academy for Young
Gentlewomen, because that cat Arabella Campbell peached on me. And it was the
most odious rapper, for I was not going to run off with M. Bonneau.”

“Who?”

“M. Bonneau, the French master. Several of us got up the
silliest flirtation with him, all in fun, you know, for it made the lessons so
much less tedious. But Arabella is jealous because the younger girls all like
me better, and was so horrid, that I had to act, after which she said it was
her duty to tell Miss Battersea, and so I was to keep my room in disgrace until
I had copied out
all
of the
Sermons to Young Women
.”

Bess paused to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. “But then I
thought, I am
nearly
, almost
sixteen
, so why should I have to stay,
and so I sneaked out after the post was delivered, and used my pocket money,
and took the mail coach to my friend Margaret in London, and it was enormous
fun, you cannot conceive, except for the old lady with the basket who kept
poking me, and the man who ate onions, but I pretended to be an orphan, and
then a French immigrant, escaped from the guillotine, and Margaret was in
transports to see me, for she was sent down last winter, but then her horrid
mother wrote to mine, and so my
horrid
brother came to get me, and...”

Kitty stared with interest at Bess, who could not be five
feet tall. She had tiny hands and feet, and wide, expressive light brown eyes.
She reminded Kitty of a flower.

“And all I can say is, in a better day, sixteen was quite
old enough to be presented,” Bess finished.

“Do you wish to be married so soon?”

“Oh, no, I have no idea of being
married
. At least, not until I’ve had seasons and
seasons
of balls, and parties, and all
the fun I
should
have. But mama
declared that I must go back for at least two more years, and ordered Philip to
take me back to school, and he would not so much as listen to any of my ideas.”

“Such as?”

“He could take me to Paris. If they want me to be expert in
French, what could be better, now that everyone says there is to be peace at
last? And I should like very much to see Madame Bonaparte, who everyone in the
world says is the most beautiful of women. After a season there, I would be
willing to go back to Miss Battersea’s, for then I should have something that is
quite as good as Arabella’s horrid golden hair: a wardrobe of French clothes.”

“What was the cause of the disgrace, may I ask?” Kitty
asked.

Bess eyed her, but saw only sympathy—that and the fact that
this unknown “Lady Catherine” was far,
far
lovelier than Arabella Campbell could ever hope to be.

“I vowed, if Arabella made one more fling at my brown hair,
or called me
Bess
in that odious
tone, I would put a toad in her bed, and she did, both! So I put a brace of
toads in her bed. Nice, moist, fat ones.”

Kitty said, “I quite sympathize. But it does not put your
brother at fault, if he is executing your mother’s wishes.”

She scowled. “He could as
easily
take me to
Paris
.
I overheard him saying he might go to Italy, now that there was peace on the
continent, and Paris is quite on the way. And expense is no matter, so why
should he not?”

Kitty made a sympathetic noise, which Bess found
encouragement to go on. “But he refused!
Then
he said if I keep prosing on about despising the name ‘Bess,’ people would lose
sympathy, and I said it was unfair, just because there has always been a ‘Bess’
in our family, ever since that horrid queen who cut off the head of the
beautiful Mary Stuart, and I did not
ask
to be inflicted with it. And so Philip knows, and that is why I have, well, I
have tried different names, but only a very, very few! When I was young and
silly I insisted they call me Clothilde, and last year I wanted to be Rosamunda.
Is that not the most romantical name? Ross-ah-mooon-da.”

“Indeed, it’s very—”

“You
cannot
be
dowdy if you are a Rosamunda, but Miss Battersea said I must use my given name,
and then Philip had the audacity to say he quite understood—that he never liked
being saddled with Philip, but I probably would not like the formality of Elizabeth
after a time—and I said it is
quite
different
for men, and that he knows
nothing
about
it, but however least he could lend me the money to go alone, for I
would pay it back when I am five-and-twenty, which is when I will gain my
fortune. Either then or if I marry, which, you know, is horridly unfair,
because then it will just go into the hands of my husband, and I will not touch
a cent of it. And if Mother didn’t keep me on the most beggarly allowance for
pin-money, as if we had to ride in the poor-basket!”