Indiscretion (26 page)

There was an uncommon vivacity in Mr Carraway’s tone and expression, which made him very persuasive: though, for Caroline, not persuasive enough; for she did not believe there was any particular in which adults could be improved by resembling children, except perhaps in the matter of hair growing out of the ears. Fanny’s glowing looks, however, showed that she was much enthused by these ideas; and it occurred to Caroline that she ought to make it known to Mr Carraway who his eager listener was. ‘Well, Mr Carraway, this is Miss Fanny Milner, by the by,’ she put in. ‘Mr Charles Carraway. There. Now you have been
introduced,
you may begin talking — as if you have not been doing so for the last ten minutes.’

This was just the sort of jest to appeal to Fanny — not indeed that she saw it entirely as a jest. ‘Exactly!’ she cried. ‘And there is that absurdity of dullness: that two human creatures cannot talk together without society first putting them on ceremony together, and making them uncomfortable. Oh, I mean no disrespect to you, Caroline
—
or the Hampsons’ party
—
I have the greatest regard for the Hampsons, you know, because they have that rare virtue
—
sincerity. Tell me, Mr Carraway do you need to
know
your subjects before you paint their portrait? That is, are you trying to capture their characters as well as their appearance?’

‘If it is a matter of mere face-painting, Miss Fanny, which, alas, too often portraiture is, then only the likeness signifies. What I try for
—
I know I fail
—
is the essence of the person. But for that, acquaintance is not actually needed. One sees the face
—
one lets the strangeness of it, the beauty, the uniqueness, imprint itself on the eye
—
and then, sometimes
—
I do not say always
—
one
knows.’
He gazed from Fanny to Caroline, and back again, then smiled deprecatingly. ‘Again, I explain it poorly.’

But Fanny plainly did not think so; and Caroline felt free to leave her with an interlocutor so much to her taste, and go in search of claret-cup. Finding it, she found also Isabella, just emerged from a long talk with her stepmother.

‘There
—
I have made my apologies, and now, my dear Caro, I shall do the same to you,’ she said, slipping her arm through Caroline’s. ‘For that abominable behaviour in the carriage.’

‘My dear Bella, you did nothing but reply very smartly to a stupidity. More natural than abominable.’ Caroline now had a peculiar divided feeling when she was alone with Isabella. She knew she ought to feel dreadfully uncomfortable
—
and indeed she did: yet alongside this the old ease and affection remained unchanged.

‘That’s what Fanny says. But I can never quite see it that way. And I ought to be in a good temper today of all days, because — well, a note came from Hethersett this afternoon. Richard was just arrived home. Yes! I shall see him tomorrow.’

‘Oh, you must be very happy’ Somehow Caroline’s lips had spoken the words, and with a fair degree of conviction, while her heart drummed and her mind thrashed. She had known this must come, of course: but when did such knowledge ever soften the blow of a dreaded eventuality? She wondered if now was the time to say she had met him: she wondered if Isabella would talk to him of her new friend, and if so what name she would say — Miss Fortune? Or Caroline? Or Caroline Fortune? If the last, then he would be placed in a similar position to herself. Oh, but it was an impossible situation
...

‘I am very happy. And very warm — do you suppose there will be ice at the supper-table? Working my fan only seems to make me hotter — do you find that? Oh, they are beginning the dancing. What a splendid instrument that is — from
Broadwood’s
, I think. My dear, are
you
feeling the heat? You look a little flushed.’ ‘Not at all,’ Caroline said. ‘Well, a little.’ ‘I have some aromatic vinegar, if that would help.’ ‘No, no. A drop more claret-cup will set me right. And now you, I think, are to be dancing.’

It was Captain Brunton who had come up and, with a civil if ungainly bow, invited Isabella to the dance. Unwelcome as the invitation might be, Caroline saw that Isabella was determined now not to be churlish, and so with equal civility her friend accepted, and walked on to the floor with the Captain. But there was another party present, Caroline noticed, who evinced absolutely no satisfaction at this development. Lady Milner watched with her most pale and peevish look: though whether her displeasure came from feeling her consequence slighted by Isabella’s being preferred for the opening dance, or had its roots in a tenderer emotion, Caroline could not tell. But she had troubles of her own to dwell on just now; and seeing a stout, smiling beau preparing to put his tight pantaloons to the test of walking over to her, she withdrew to an adjoining room, where a couple of card-tables were set out for the sedentary. Here she lingered in oppressive thought for some time, until she became aware of Stephen Milner, restlessly prowling about with a book in his hand.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You don’t happen to have a knife about you, by any chance?’

‘Come, surely it’s not that unbearable. Besides, it’s very bad manners to bleed on your host’s carpet.’

‘Oh, I don’t usually reach the point of suicidal despair until the ladies start singing. I want a knife for this.’ He held up the book: the pages were uncut.

‘You can’t come to Mr Hampson’s party, and then settle down to reading his books.’

‘No, I can’t, because they are all like this.’ He sighed. ‘Which leaves me quite at a loss.’

‘You do not dance, Mr Milner?’

‘I do — once in an evening, twice if in thoroughly madcap mood. When I dance, though, I must talk all the time. Otherwise I begin thinking about dancing, and how absurd it is, and what prize boobies we would look if you took away the music. Well, I suppose it will pass the time: do you want to go through the ghastly motions with me, Miss Fortune?’

‘How can I refuse such a charming invitation?’

Caroline found that Stephen Milner danced quite creditably for a long-limbed, absent-minded man who hated dancing. She, on the other hand, loved it: but her spirits were still damped by Isabella’s news, which she could not help alluding to.

‘So the famous Mr Leabrook is home, I hear.’

‘Aye, for a mercy: we may as well get the precious pair spliced, and then perhaps I can take off again.’

‘Again? You have only just come back.’

‘Oho, I don’t imagine you’d weep for my absence,’ he said, with a narrow look. ‘The fact is, a correspondent in Chichester writes me of some delicious Roman remains, and I’m sorely tempted.’

‘Delicious Roman remains. If it were anyone else, I would think I must have misheard that, Mr Milner.’

‘Well, perhaps I won’t go just yet. I should miss our fights; and besides, I do want to be here to see my prophecy fulfilled.’

‘Prophecy?’

About you, Miss Fortune — about you being trouble.’

Her response to this was a disdainful look, which she intended following up with some acerbic comparisons of Mr Milner with
Old Moore’s Almanack;
but then the shadow of, yes, real trouble fell across her again, and drove her back into anxious thought.

‘Now, this won’t do — you must keep talking to me — I’m starting to be aware of the fact that I’m dancing, and in a moment it will all look ridiculous. Oh, by the by, who
is
that young fellow arguing with Fanny?’

‘That is Mr Carraway, the artist, and I doubt they are arguing: she seemed very much struck with him.’

‘Ah, that explains it: Fanny always seems to be arguing when she’s excited. Intense, you know. Dear, dear, and he does look as if he finds the world endlessly fascinating: what a bore. I shall have to play the stern elder brother and be introduced to him later. And what
is
the matter with Augusta?’

Lady Milner was not dancing; she was seated, as ever, by the fire, and Captain Brunton was standing, or lingering, by her chair: he high-shouldered and discomfited, she grimly silent. If there really was a lover-like relation between them, Caroline thought, then she was certainly an exacting mistress.

‘What a damned plaguey set we are,’ Stephen continued. ‘You know, Miss Fortune, you needn’t fear that Isabella will drop you now that her beau is back.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Why, it’s the way girls are, isn’t it? They swear eternal friendship on the strength of using the same circulating-library and liking the same shade of ribbon, and then as soon as a man’s in the case it’s all forgotten. But Isabella is different: she takes things to heart: very deep is Bella, very loyal and steadfast in her feelings.’

All too convincing as this was as a portrait of Isabella, it certainly did not make Caroline feel better. ‘Every time I am deluded into thinking you human, Mr Milner,’ she told him sweetly, ‘you come out and say something to confirm my earlier opinion. “The way girls are”, indeed: I never heard anything so arrogant and conceited.’

‘Didn’t you? Not even from me? Mind, I notice you didn’t say it’s not true.’

‘Some of the sex are as you describe — not all: just as not
all
men are insensitive boors who are too pleased with themselves.’

His enjoyment of this remark was so great that it seemed to last him till the end of the dance, which came more quickly than Caroline had supposed; at which he made his bow, and took himself off, as he had suggested, to meet Mr Carraway. It was like him to ignore the convention of handing his partner back to her seat — she could well imagine him declaring that anyone not actually half-witted could find herself a chair; but she was surprised to find Captain Brunton suddenly at her elbow, and performing the office. She thanked him, and hinted that she must not detain him: her glance straying to Lady Milner, whom she could not suppose happy at being deserted; but he, after a polite request for permission, sat down by her as if disposed to conversation — perhaps, she guessed, in that spirit of independence which quarrelling lovers liked to show to each other. However, as he seemed more ready to cough and frown than talk, she made a beginning, asking him if he saw any prospect of going to sea again.

‘As a Navy man, Miss Fortune, no — candidly, no, though it goes hard with me to say it. There are not half the ships of the line in commission as there were during the war: it is a simple matter of arithmetic. Of course one may hope. There are still ships, and men to crew them: there is map-making, convict transports, expeditions against the slave trade. But he who lives upon hope dies fasting, they say’

‘They say some very gloomy things, don’t they?’

‘They do,’ he said, with a clenched, though not disagreeable, smile. ‘They do indeed — folk wisdom — never rains but it pours — cheerless stuff.’

‘I should be more inclined to trust folk wisdom if those wise old folk had not been so prone to dying when they were thirty, and setting light to each other for saying the wrong sort of prayers.’

‘Indeed, I am no friend to superstition. Quite the rationalist. It

made me an odd fish among sailors, who are superstitious beyond anything. But rationally — yes, rationally, I know I must abandon this hope and look elsewhere. I was not fortunate enough in prize money from the war to purchase complete independence, and the sea is all I know. I think to apply to the East Coast Revenue Service, as soon as I — well, as soon as may be.’ All at once he squared his shoulders, and addressed her in his gruffest manner. ‘You think badly of me.’

‘Do I? I cannot think why I should.’

‘Because you must surely suppose — but this is rudeness. I beg your pardon. I have no excuse — only that I have been little accustomed to society
—
still that is no excuse. I was going to say, you must surely suppose me a dilatory fellow. But it is wrong to attribute to you thoughts you may not possess. Wrong indeed.’

Captain Brunton, breathing hard and shaking his large fair head, was so painfully caught up in the toils of apology she was not sure how to get him out again: she could only say: ‘I do not think badly of you, sir, nor hold you to be a dilatory fellow. And if I did, I should like to know what right I had to make such a judgement.’

‘You are very good. It’s — it’s odd: I can talk with you.’

Privately Caroline thought that if this was Captain Brunton’s ar-ticulacy she would hate to see him tongue-tied: but she said she was glad of it.

‘The thing is this. When I say I mean to apply to the Revenue Service, I do mean it. But the fact that I have not done so yet is not due to reluctance. I would willingly be gone in a moment. But one hesitates to open a new chapter, as it were
—’

‘When the old one is not resolved?’

‘Exactly so.’ He smiled again, with the effect of a tight knot being slightly loosened. ‘Curious creatures we mortals are
—
how we do not know what we want, or how to get it if we do.’

‘There is probably some wonderful folk wisdom on that subject.’

‘To be sure. Never — never tread upon a weasel on a Thursday, or something like that.’