Lady Jane (16 page)

“And another thing,” he said, ignoring her protestations, “I don’t know what sort of set you’ve been allowing her to go about with, but she has been indulging in some very deep play lately. Her pockets are always to let and she’s already spent her next two quarters’ allowance. I’ll not advance her another penny and so I warn you! That’s all I have to say and if you’ll follow my advice you’ll take her in hand at once before it’s too late. I’ll bid you goodnight now, Mama.”

He crossed to the door and opened it and stood waiting politely for her to leave. She gathered up her cloak and came to stand before him, uncertainty in her cold, proud eyes. He kissed her hand, bowed, and she left with a murmured, “Goodnight, then, dear boy.”

He went to throw himself into the chair before the fire, hands deep in his pockets, long legs stretched before him. He stared into the flames, and saw dancing there a pair of dark-fringed amber eyes gazing wide-eyed back at him. A memory stirred hazily deep in his mind, but was gone before he could capture it. He had experienced the same thing when he first caught sight of those eyes this evening as he stood leaning against the wall of Mrs. Medvers-Platt’s music room, bored beyond expression, his ears assaulted by the execrable screechings of the soprano. Those startled eyes were familiar to him in some way. Somewhere he had seen eyes like them before. He cast about among his acquaintances but could not bring to mind their duplicates. It would come to him, no doubt, in time.

He allowed the problem to drift away as he sleepily called up the memory of Lady Payton in her entirety. There was no doubt she was the most adorably beautiful creature he had ever seen. How was it possible for such a woman to marry Payton, who by all accounts had been practically a dwarf? Perhaps it had all been a Banbury tale and the man perfectly normal, only sickly and unable to go about. For I’d stake my blunt that girl wouldn’t marry for convenience or avarice alone, he thought Not with that straightforward gaze. On the other hand, it is said that a good liar is one who can look you straight in the eye most innocently.

He dismissed the thought immediately as unworthy of his picture of her and again her wide-eyed gaze flew up to meet his as he asked if he might call. “Why?” she gasped. He leaned toward her to explain the absolute necessity of his seeing her again. She turned away. He followed—came slowly up behind her. His hands went around her—she was—

“M’lord! M’lord!”

“Wh-a-a-”

“Will you have your brandy now, m’lord?” inquired Omsby.

Jaspar stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then shook his head crossly and rose. Perhaps if he went straight to his bed he could recapture that dream.

16

At
eleven the
following morning Jaspar tapped peremptorily on his sister’s door. His dream had eluded him completely the night before and his mood was not improved.

When he was told to enter he found Sarah in a wrapping gown of celestial-blue satin, extravagant with lace and satin ribands, seated on a small sofa. A stout gentleman was on his knees before her holding one of her small bare feet reverently. Wright, her dresser, stood to one side holding a tray with various implements arranged upon it. They all turned inquiringly at the interruption.

Jaspar stared in astonishment for a moment at this scene before he realized it was only the chiropodist attending to Lady Sarah’s toenails.

“I would like to speak with you for a moment,” Jaspar said shortly.

“Go away, Jaspar. I can’t talk to you now,” Sarah replied with a careless wave of her hand.

“Now! Dismiss your—er—attendants, madam.”

She looked at him rebelliously for a moment, but saw something in his eyes that told her she’d best do as she was bid. She petulantly motioned to the chiropodist and Wright to withdraw.

As soon as the door had closed behind them she burst out in great irritation. “I wish you will not burst into my apartments in this boorish fashion, Jaspar. It is of all things what I dislike most in the mornings. What do you want?”

“Several things. First of all you exhibited such a lamentable want of conduct last night that you exceeded even my expectations of you. You came within an ace of saying something unforgivable to Lady Payton, though I don’t suppose you can even remember it now.”

“Lady—oh—
her
! Nonsense, brother, we hit it off splendidly. Why should I say unforgivable things to her?”

“
Why,
indeed? My reading of the situation was that you were foxed again.”

“Er—what did I say?” she asked guardedly. He told her and she had the grace to look flustered for a moment. But only for a moment “Pooh! I shouldn’t refine too much upon that. I doubt she is such a dolt
she
would. After all, her sensibilities were not so nice they prevented her from marrying the man!”

“We are not speaking of her sensibilities, but yours. To refer to his affliction in that gossiping, rattle-headed way before all those people, not even bothering to lower your voice, was unspeakable. Think—if you are capable—think how she must have felt!”

“I shall have strong convulsions if you continue to shout at me in this way!” she cried, clutching her temples. “I have the headache this morning.”

“That is the price one must pay for overindulgence in iced champagne,” he said unsympathetically, “which is another subject I wish to discuss with you when we have settled the matter of Lady Payton.”

“I suppose you are making all this fuss because you have designs on the virtue of the Widow Payton,” she said waspishly. His brows snapped down in a menacing frown. “Oh, all right, all right! I shall trot around and do the pretty to the dear little soul and we shall be bosom bows before the Season’s over.”

“Now the second matter—”

“Jaspar, please go
away
!”

“—is your fondness for drink. If you cannot control yourself I will send you down to the country with a keeper. At least there you will not disgrace yourself before your family and friends.”

“You would not dare!”

“Try me,” he invited calmly. “The third thing is that I would remind you you have been given your allowance for the next six months. Your fondness for deep play is your own business, of course, but you’ll have no more from me.”

“Jaspar don’t—you must—I must have—” the words tumbled out in a frightened spate at this.

“Rolled up again, sister? And thinking I’ll pay the dibs? Well, I tell you I won’t. If you think I’ll beggar the estate just so you can indulge in a few seconds’ excitement at the gaming tables, you are sadly mistaken.”

“I suppose
you
never play?” she was stung to reply.

“I have never been rolled up,” he pointed out, “so it is not to the point. You, on the other hand, seem only to lose. I must suppose you experience some sort of thrill from it. Far be it from me to deprive you of any of your pleasures, but I won’t continue to tow you out of the River Tick.”

“Just this one time, Jaspar, and I promise I’ll never—” she said coaxingly.

“You’ve said
that
the last three times.”

“This time I—”

“No, Sarah.”

“But what shall I
do
?” she cried.

“I would suggest you begin throwing out lures for a rich husband. What about old Fitz-Clarence? Rich as Croesus and dangling at your shoestrings any time this last twelve months.”

“He’s eighty years old!” she protested in horror.

“All the more likely to be dotty enough to pay your gaming debts, sister,” he said consolingly as he trod across the room and exited.

She reached down for one of her satin slippers and threw it at him, but it only hit the closed door and fell uselessly to the floor. She burst into noisy tears. But ten minutes later she was chattering gaily with the chiropodist, urging him into scandalous indiscretions about his other clients.

That same morning, Jane came awake as her door burst open suddenly to admit Clinton and Wellington, who both clambered onto her bed with much laughing on the boy’s part and barking on spaniels, to give her equally damp good-morning kisses.

This morning romp had become a ritual, allowed by Nanny, hovering in the hallway, to last ten minutes before she entered clucking. Master Clinton’s state of health was then discussed in minute detail, along with an account of all the scrapes he’d gotten into the day before. Clinton would burrow under the covers to cuddle against his mother’s soft, sleep-warm body, while Wellington tried desperately to follow suit, until a scandalized Nurse would lift the dog bodily off the bed and threaten to put him out of the room did he not behave proper. He would then run from side to side of the bed yipping frantically, overcome with excitement at the tickling match now in progress on it.

This state of affairs lasted only a few minutes, for soon Dorrie came in with m’lady’s hot chocolate and Nurse firmly carried her charge away, muttering dire predictions relating to young gentlemen who became hysterical before breakfast. The fact was, however, that anything that added to Clinton’s happiness was sacred to her and she would have been shocked if it were suggested the morning romp be abandoned.

Jane sat up against her pillows to drink her chocolate and saw on the tray a tight little posy of pink rosebuds in a delicate ivory holder. Puzzled, she took up the accompanying card. It had only two initials on it: “J. M.,” but they were enough to cause her heart to give a curious hard, little thump which in turn sent her leaping from the bed to stand indecisively in the middle of the floor.

“What is it, m’lady?”

“What?”

“I thought you was wantin’ something, m’lady, jumped out o’ yer bed like a startled rabbit you did, and now jest standin’ there all starin’ like.”

“Oh—oh—well—you’d best brush my hair now—no—fetch hot water and I’ll bathe first.”

“Yes, m’lady. And will you wear your new gown today? Looks a treat on you, it does.”

“Why, thank you, Dorrie. But no, I’ll wear something else, I think.” Dorrie’s face fell, but she turned obediently to the door. “Dorrie—can you read?”

Dorrie flushed and looked away in embarrassment. Finally she whispered, “No, Lady Jane.”

“Then you will learn. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh yes, m’lady!” Dorrie replied breathlessly.

“Then you shall. We’ll start tomorrow—an hour a day. Only you won’t have such a teacher as I had,” she said, her eyes clouding, but then she shook it off and smiled. “But I will do just as he did and you will like it very well and so shall I.”

Dorrie gave her an adoring smile and bobbed a shy curtsy before hurrying away for the hot water.

Some hours later, after consulting with Betty Crews and taking Nurse and Clinton along for her monthly visit with her old friend Mrs. Hawks, Lady Stanier’s housekeeper, Jane was on her knees before a large trunk filled with books, all the ones she and Sebastian had used. She was glad they were now to be used to help another ignorant young girl better herself. In a way, by attempting to teach Dorrie, Jane felt she was in some part repaying a debt and she was grateful she’d had the sudden inspiration of doing so. She wished she had thought of it sooner.

She sat back on her heels to look at a diary of ideas and thoughts Sebastian had encouraged her to keep, and her eyes misted over as she read what he had written on the first page for her. It was a quotation from
Hamlet
that he had thought apropos for her book:

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance—pray you love, remember—and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.”

Before she could sink quite into melancholy by all the memories this called up, she was brought back to the present by Dorrie calling out to her urgently.

“M’lady, where you got yourself to now?”

Jane hastily wiped her eyes and went to the top of the stairs. “I’m here, Dorrie—looking out some books for our lessons. What is it?”

“A fine lady come to call, m’lady.”

“What name did she give?”

“Montmorency, Lady Sarah Montmorency.”

“Good heavens! And me in this old dress!”

“And all dusty too, m’lady,” offered Dorrie helpfully.

“Quickly, Dorrie! Run ahead and pull out the new merino.”

Dorrie turned and fled down the stairs, Jane hurrying after. Ten minutes later, face and hands washed and hastily buttoned into the new amber-coloured merino gown with its stiffened blond lace ruffle standing up around her face and coming to a graduated point at the bosom, she walked with a semblance of composure into her drawing room, where Lady Sarah sat turning over the pages of the latest copy of
La Belle Assemblée.

“Lady Sarah! Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

Sarah tossed the magazine aside and rose. “The apology is mine, madam, for coming unannounced, but I shall allow you to feel a little guilty so that you will be more apt to forgive my stupidity last night. I speak too often without thinking, but I meant nothing by my words, I assure you, and I would not offend you for the world.”

“My dear Lady Sarah—I—”

“
Say
you forgive me!”

Jane smiled, for she could not hold out after such a handsome apology. “Let us consider it forgotten.”

“Then to prove it you will consent to come for a drive in the Park with me.”

“Oh—well—I don’t know that—”

“Please say that you will. I excessively dislike driving alone. One is continually being stopped to chatter. Whereas, if I have someone with me I shan’t be obliged to. The carriage is waiting outside and it’s such a fine day. Warm as June and not a whiff of cloud to be seen.”

Jane allowed herself to be persuaded. She was not anxious to pursue an intimate acquaintance with the girl, who didn’t seem at all the type of person she would respond to now that she knew her somewhat better than when she had hauled fuel to her bedroom fireplace. However, she felt it would be churlish to refuse, and she would quite like to go for a drive. But beyond these reasons was the more pressing one of the velvet pelisse made to go with her new dress, of the same shade of amber trimmed with sable at collar and cuffs, and an enchanting sable hat and an enormous sable muff to go with it.

After being complimented in a most gratifying way by Lady Sarah on this dashing costume, Jane took a seat in the carriage and was bowled along the streets to the Park. A great many other Londoners had taken advantage of the first fine day and swarmed into the Park in their carriages, on horseback or on foot. Sarah seemed to know everyone and bowed and waved all the while she kept up a steady stream of comment and anecdote on their histories and morals. She seemed unwilling to stop the carriage for closer encounters, however, declaring there was not one among them who was not a dead bore.

Jane was content to have it so. She was comfortable and amused and more at ease with Lady Sarah than she had thought to be when they set out. She found the girl not the cold, selfish creature she remembered at all. Not that she is probably any kinder to her backstairs maid now than she was to me though, Jane thought realistically. But I begin to see her behaviour has no real malice in it; it is just that she has been brought up by that dreadful mother to be too full of her own consequence to notice anyone so lowly as a backstairs maid, anymore than she “notices” the washstand or the fireplace tongs.

She had wit and beauty, but seemed to complain continuously of the boredom she experienced through nearly every waking moment Jane pitied her in spite of herself. The girl had no character to sustain her, nor any inner life to fill the vacuum when she wasn’t being entertained by outside events. She sought stimulation constantly and was wearied by the sameness of the avenues open to a well-brought-up girl. She was also bored with the sameness of the people she met day after day socially, always the same people. Which no doubt accounts for her interest in me, Jane thought wryly—I’m at least a new face.