Indiscretion (9 page)

‘I hardly remember it, Mr Downey, and I would be glad if you would think no more of it.’

‘You are very good
—
but that I can hardly do. The only excuse I can offer is that my mind
—
my heart also
—
were much occupied
—
and that any failure of civility came less from intention than sheer distraction.’

‘Truly, it is forgotten.’

‘By you perhaps
—
I cannot so easily efface the painful impression. But then it was so horribly like me
—
when I am overmastered by some great feeling, I become quite blind and insensible in that way. I wish I would not
—
but I am made so.’

Well, he had gone rather swiftly from apology to talking about his feelings, a subject in which she could hardly be expected to share his lively interest. But of course it was much better than hostility; and when she offered to make him tea, and was rapturously thanked, she concluded that he was surely after making friends, and that any reserve on her part would be churlish.

‘I cannot make a fuller explanation,’ he said, returning to the point. ‘Discretion forbids
—
and I could not burden you with confidences.’

He looked, though, in his inflammable way, as if he might be going to; and so she said hastily, to divert him, ‘Well, and so you met Mr Leabrook on the road, I believe, and were not previously acquainted?’

‘Oh! yes, to be sure
—
a piece of great good luck, was it not? I have made a capital friend in Leabrook. But you must not suppose there to be something flimsy in a friendship so quickly made. Indeed, there is nothing like a day’s coaching for enabling people to get to know one another. We were perfectly easy together before the first stage was reached. Where there is true cordiality and sympathy, an hour can do as much as a lifetime:
more,
I would say.’

She had meant only a commonplace enquiry: it was rather fatiguing to be taken up like this; but at that moment Mr Leabrook, catching her eye, demonstrated his talent for understanding once more, and drew Matthew into a general conversation. Presently Caroline, at Mrs Catling’s urging, went to the piano. Mr Leabrook got up to do the offices of unlocking it, and sorting the music-sheets, and while so occupied murmured to her: ‘Matthew is an excellent fellow
—
the warmest heart
—
but he does make a meal of the
bread.’

She subdued her smiles, and played. No one was ever likely to call her performance brilliant, and she was grateful that Richard Leabrook did not imperil her good opinion of him by doing so. Still, she found herself concentrating on the music more intensely than usual, and his attention was unforced. She would tax no one’s patience beyond three pieces, and asked Maria if she would replace her; but that serene young lady’s instrument was the harp, as she reported with satisfaction, for it spared her the trouble of walking over to the pianoforte. Maria herself soon transferred the attention back to Caroline, however, for she had found on a table within reach of her sinuous arm Caroline’s sketchbook, and now the contents must be admired.

‘How provoking
—
your people truly look like people, instead of dolls in very foldy dresses like mine,’ Maria said. ‘And hands
—
how does one draw hands? Mine always seem to have
one
finger too many, though I keep on counting them.’

‘Figures I can manage, but they must float in limbo,’ Caroline said. ‘You see how few are the landscapes, and decidedly not good. There is no telling my trees from my clouds.’

‘I fancy the ability to draw landscape is uncommoner than generally supposed,’ Mr Leabrook said, bending over the book. ‘I mean to have some views of my estate made, when I find an artist equal to them. My late father engaged a fellow who had been highly praised, but produced the most fearful scribbles
—
we were perplexed which way up to hang them, and hid them away at last.’

‘Your property in Northamptonshire is large, Mr Leabrook?’ Mrs Catling asked.

‘It is large enough to content me
—
and my father took pains to improve it. I am perhaps less fond of country living than he, or my mother, who is very content to remain there all the year, rearing doves and making cures for the work-folk. But I shall grow more attached to it, I don’t doubt; and the curious thing is, I begin thinking wistfully of it as soon as I come away from it. A wise friend told me that is the height of felicity: when you wish yourself elsewhere to
have
an elsewhere to go to.’

‘There can be no sounder basis for happiness than such a property,’ Mrs Catling said, with stern approval. ‘I have never understood people who come to prosperity and do not so invest, thus providing for the future. It is stupid irresponsibility, and worse; for having frittered away their substance, these people then expect others to support their offspring; and I fear the children of such will contract the same habits.’

Even someone less prickly than Matthew would have felt this hit: and full of wine as he was, his face flamed up in a moment. A thorough quarrel would surely have begun, had Matthew not been so very choked up he could not find his tongue for some moments
—
time that allowed his sister to put in with: ‘Rearing doves, you say, Mr Leabrook? I find that enchanting. Everyone used to have a dovecote, didn’t they, in the old days? So pretty and medieval, like mead
—
which I always fancy as very refreshing but was probably quite odious and sticky
—
what do you think, Caroline?’

‘I think it was probably horrible, and I do not think I could have worn one of those pointed hats with a handkerchief on it, and kept my countenance.’

‘True
—
but you ladies would have been in better case than us men,’ Mr Leabrook said. ‘Just think
—
Matthew and I would be in tabards and hose, and that I am sure I could not carry off
Caroline, running her eye over his tall lean figure, thought that he would probably look very well in it. She suspected that he knew it too
—
though this diminished only slightly her good opinion of him. A man should know his own worth, she felt. Besides, it was of no account, because she was
not
falling in love with Richard Leabrook.

This admonition, which rang like a chime in her head even as she kept up the conversation, was partly simple prudence. In worldly terms there was much against it: a portionless girl should not set her sights so high, and so on; and if she were to make a fool of herself over him, she could not imagine Mrs Catling being very tolerant. He had much more freedom than her, of course. Indeed he could surely do just what he liked. And if it were Caroline that he liked ...

But here the chime rang again. She was
not
falling in love with Richard Leabrook. She thought him all that was handsome and amiable, and no doubt her head would be full of him after he had gone. ‘But that does not mean falling in love with him,’ she said to herself
—
so distinctly, that for a moment of real alarm she thought she had spoken the words out loud.

The dinner-party had ended peaceably, in spite of its hostess’s best efforts. Caroline’s view of the Downeys had already begun to alter, but this revelation of Mrs Catling’s wilfully trouble-making temper completed the process. Without regarding either Matthew or Maria as plaster saints, she saw in them two well-disposed young people who had been as much illused as spoiled, and whose defects, so acidly dwelled upon by their aunt, had been fostered if not created by her caprice.

As to why Mrs Catling should play this unpleasant game, perhaps no further reason needed to be sought than that it gave her pleasure to meddle, mar, and hurt: this human propensity not being so uncommon as ever to excite surprise when detected. In her case, however, there seemed an extra element. Mrs Catling scoffed at love, and made it plain that in her life she had kept the blind god firmly in his place. Yet it was the intensity of a lover that she brought to her tangled relation with the young Downeys. No coquette ever put her hapless suitors so thoroughly through the mill, or priced her wooing at the cost of so many pets, teazes and tantrums. The whole tormenting business was, in the truest sense, close to her heart.

But to perceive this was not to approve it. Caroline’s sympathies were now firmly with the Downeys, and over the next week they ripened, for they were much together. Having made her point, Mrs Catling now invited her relatives to socialize every day. With Maria, Caroline continued on excellent terms
—
no less, and no more: it was hard to imagine so self-contained a nature admitting any deep friendship. With Matthew there was a startling change.

‘I wish I knew what you really thought of me!’ he burst out one afternoon. They had all gone in Mrs Catling’s carriage to picnic at Rottingdean: Mr Leabrook was one of the party. Matthew had asked Caroline to take a turn along the cliff-path with him, and she was just glancing regretfully back at Mr Leabrook when he spoke
—
so it was with a sort of guilty start that she replied, ‘Oh
—
why
—
why, I think very well of you, Mr Downey’

‘I would be glad to believe it!’ he said, shaking his head with a great sigh.

‘You alarm me. Have I been making faces at you? If so, I assure you it is only the egg I had at nuncheon, which I fear was
not
very fresh.’

‘Oh! to be sure, you are joking,’ he said
—
wincing as at some regrettable infirmity. ‘Making faces, no
—
quite otherwise. After our unfortunate beginning you have turned utterly polite and closed-up, and I can’t tell what may lie behind your expression. It may conceal hatred. For myself, I can never conceal anything
—
that is not my nature
—
I am terribly open.’ He paused but, as she declined the opportunity of congratulating him on his lack of duplicity, went on with a frown, ‘I will be honest
—
indeed I can be no other
—
and confess that I suspected you, at first, a schemer. But you will be happy to know that I no longer think that: you will be happy to know, in fact, that I am very well affected to you now.’

Caroline signified that her happiness was so great she was practically paralysed with it.

‘It was unjust of me,’ he pursued, ‘a piece of shocking injustice and prejudice.
Now
I realize that we are pretty much in the same boat. You have no doubt heard my aunt abusing my late father. The other day she was talking to me of
your
father, Miss Fortune, and characterizing him as a shabby sort of reprobate, who could not provide for his daughter, and so had foisted the little chit on to her in hopes of a legacy. Her exact words. I could not help but feel goodwill to you after them.’

Caroline felt that the exactness might have been omitted, but was prepared to accept the goodwill. ‘Well, as to a legacy, or anything of that kind, Mr Downey,’ she said, ‘if I could sign something
—
some document
—
renouncing any claim on Mrs Catling’s fortune, ever, I would do it
—
here and now! Failing that, I do not see how I can convince you.’

He hesitated, and then with a look of genuine frankness said in appeal: ‘You must think me very mercenary! Looking only to what my aunt can do for me
—
hanging on my expectations
—
indeed it has a very bad appearance, and I for my part don’t see how I can convince
you
otherwise, unless
—
unless I take you into my confidence.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to do that!’

‘No
—
but I shall, because there is something about you, Miss Fortune, that invites it. I have peculiar instincts about people. I feel I can trust you.’ He had drunk several glasses of champagne at nuncheon, and she wondered whether she ought to remind him of it; but already he was plunging on
—
unexpectedly
—
with the demand, ‘Tell me, have you ever been in love?’

‘I ought to giggle and blush at such a question,’ she said, ‘and though I do not, I am still not sure how to answer it.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean any trifling, silly, here-today-gone-tomorrow attachment. I mean truly in love
—
so that you are half ecstatic and half tormented, and your heart drums wildly and your mind wanders, and you cannot sleep at night.’

Caroline did not answer. She was ruefully admitting to herself that, for all her thoughts about Mr Leabrook, her heart kept a steady beat and she had not the slightest trouble in sleeping. Was she lacking in sensibility?

‘Well,’ went on Matthew, ‘such a love is mine. Dear God! it is tremendous, and wonderful, to let this out at last
—
for I can confide in no one. Maria is a dear sister, but she and I are cut from different cloth. I think she could never understand
—
she is so dreadfully practical. That day at Dover Street, Miss Fortune
—
when I was rude to you
—
I had just come from seeing my love. A most agitating interview. I offer this as some explanation for my conduct. I offer you her name also: it is Perdita.’

‘Oh, like the mist...
’
The Prince Regent had had a notorious mistress named Perdita Robinson: Caroline realized, just too late, that this would not be a tasteful comparison. ‘Like the mist on the sea,’ she improvised desperately, ‘in beauty, I mean
—
I imagine her
—
so your tender expression suggests
—
isn’t she?’

‘I was not mistaken in you, Miss Fortune
—
you have described her exactly!’ cried Matthew. ‘You do have a feeling heart
—
and you embolden me to unveil the secret. Oh, a sacred secret, I mean
—
nothing dishonourable. Between Perdita and me burns the purest of flames. It is only my unfortunate situation that renders secrecy necessary. For, you know, I am not meant to be attached in this way. I am but two-and-twenty, and not yet qualified, and I have no money, and no expectations beyond Aunt Sophia. As for Perdita, she is quite without fortune. Her father is a doctor, and their circumstances are modest. Shall I lie? He is not a physician or a surgeon. He is a mere apothecary, and he lives at Snow Hill. Contemptible! Such must be society’s cry. Never mind his moral worth
—
the nobility of spirit that has led him to ply his healing arts amongst the sick and needy, though he is of gentle birth himself. A bad match it must remain
—
and for me, who must shun all attachments, it is unthinkable. My aunt has explicitly told me that if I go rushing after a petticoat, as she terms it, then I can expect no more help from her.’ ‘Good Lord
—
how long is such a prohibition to last?’ ‘I have heard her say that no man should marry till he is at least thirty,’ Matthew said, with a grimace, ‘and then only from motives of the most careful prudence. The fact of the matter is, if she knew about Perdita, my credit with her would be lost for ever. But what about my dear girl? It is intolerably hard on her to be turned into a secret, as if she were something shameful. And though she has the mildest of tempers, the strain of it has told on her. That day when I saw you at Dover Street, she had spoken most passionately of our wretched situation
—
of her fears that she might be deceived in me
—
that her reputation might be lost by degrees, whilst she fasted on a meagre diet of hope.’ Matthew tugged out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘It was a painful meeting
—
even though it concluded with the happiest thing that can ever come to pass. What
should
be the happiest, under different ...
No. I still say, the happiest. We became engaged, Miss Fortune: secret the bond must be, but solemn it is, and indivisible.’

‘Oh
...
I can see how very hard it is for you, Mr Downey. I want to congratulate you on your engagement, and yet one can hardly properly do so!’

‘No
—
but I take the thought kindly,’ he said, with warmth. ‘And so
—
when you saw me that day, I was in an excessively
raw
state, after such a buffeting of emotions. I mean explanation not excuse. I dare say love has run rougher courses than this; but still it is an out-and-out facer, to think that our future depends upon a woman who would never allow us a future at all!’

‘It is a shocking pity. And yet you are plainly devoted to this young lady
—
and if she is amiable and true, then surely ...
’
She stopped, and exchanged a wry glance with her companion. She had been going to say that surely Mrs Catling might be brought round to a more sympathetic view of the couple’s plight; but as even a moment’s reflection established that there was an equal likelihood of her launching herself off this cliff and flying all the way to Calais, she curbed her tongue.

‘There is nothing to be done,’ he said, briskly enough. ‘I must wait: I
can
wait. The last thing I am, I hope, is weak-spirited. And I am relieved to have spoken out, you know. I hardly intended to go so far
—
but then I never plan
—
I loathe all such cold dead preparation
—
and you have shown yourself so friendly, Miss Fortune. It has been preying on me, how rude I was to you at the beginning; one thing I cannot endure is to feel I have caused pain. I must always repair it, or I have no rest. Now you know all, and I am content.’

And so he really seemed. She found in him none of that inclination to regret a confidence, which made the receiving of them too often a burden. He looked indeed as if a weight had lifted from him. Perhaps as a consequence, all the pleasanter aspects of Matthew Downey’s character remained uppermost for the rest of that day; and Caroline felt she had misjudged him. He still tended to speak too partially of his own feelings, and to suppose that his idiosyncrasies were of necessity interesting; whereas she could not be convinced, even by ever so emphatic a manner, that a violent dislike of onion-sauce called for any special comment, still less admiration. But he was sincere and well-meaning, of that she was sure; and she felt for his difficult situation. Indeed, it was this that made Caroline his partisan.

It would not do to be too obvious about it, and start at once pleading his cause with her employer. But she flattered herself that Mrs Catling did set some store by her opinion, and was less inclined to look for calculation in what she said than most others. So when the card-table was set out for the two of them that night, and Mrs Catling, snapping the seal from a new pack as if she were mercifully despatching some small creature, asked her how she had liked the picnic today, Caroline was prompt with her answer.

‘Oh, I never enjoyed a day more, ma’am. Not just the beauty of the spot
—
there was true ease and cordiality on all sides, and that is very comfortable to my spirits.’

‘Is it now? Well, I noticed Matthew paying you a deal of attention. He was giving you his life-history, no doubt, in minute detail, with him as a saintly hero, and with
my
cruel misdeeds painted in glowing colours. You hid your yawns creditably, my dear, I will say that.’

‘Well, we had a great talk; and I must confess I have come to know him better, and find much in him that is estimable.’

‘Piquet,’ Mrs Catling pronounced, handing Caroline the pack for preparation. ‘Matthew estimable, eh? That must have been
very
good champagne.’

‘Oh, I know you are satirical, ma’am,’ Caroline said, removing all the lower cards and putting them aside. ‘But I also know
—
well, I had thought he was a little of a favourite of yours. I think there can be no doubting that he is warmly attached to you, in spite of quarrels; and indeed he does not speak ill of you, Mrs Catling
—
only with a proper measure of respect and affection.’

‘Uff! A proper fiddlestick!’ Mrs Catling grunted; yet Caroline,