The Frost Fair (9 page)

“Thank you, Lady Carrier. I find your recommendation most … er … reassuring. But I wish, ma'am, that you'd call me Meg. Lady Margaret is much too distant and formal a manner of address from someone who has so generously welcomed into her home a pair of troublesome intruders.”

“Oh, my dear, not troublesome at all! Not at all! In truth, Lady Meg (which is what I will call you to honor your request for informality, but we must use our titles, you know, for I wish the girls always to have respect for one's position in the world), but to return to what I was saying, in truth I couldn't be happier about having your company. We very seldom have visitors, you know, this place being so far from London or from any really
proper
society …” She sighed and pulled a handkerchief from the bosom of her dress. “It can be so very dreadfully lonely sometimes,” she said, dabbing at her eyes, “that I think I shall go quite mad.”

“Oh, Mama, don't exaggerate,” Trixie muttered in disgust. “The Garrelsons come for dinner nearly every week, and so do Lady Habish and her girls—”

“To say nothing of Sir Edmund and Lady Lazenby and then-son
Mortimer,
” Sybil added pointedly, making a face at her sister.

Trixie colored to her ears. “Sybil!” she hissed warningly.

“Really, girls,” Lady Carrier remonstrated, turning to glare at her daughters, “you will have her ladyship and Mrs. Underwood believing that you have no manners at all!” She turned back to Meg with an indulgent smile. “It's quite true that I offer my table to the local gentry from time to time—one can't live completely cut off from the world, you know—but one can't even
compare
such company with the circle of friends we had in London. Oh, dear, I do miss them so!” And she dabbed at her eyes again.

“Mama, you know perfectly well that you find this Yorkshire society very pleasant,” Trixie insisted. “I've heard you say many times that you never had a better friend than Lady Habish.”

Lady Carrier was more discomfitted than irritated by her daughter's contrariety. “That is because Lady Habish is the sort who would fit in anywhere,” she said defensively, “even with the
haut ton
of London.”

“Which is more than you can say of the Lazenbys—and their so-dashing son,” Sybil said to her sister with a taunting smirk. “One could hardly picture
them
fitting into the tonnish circles of London.”

“They most certainly
would,
” Trixie fired up angrily. “Besides, what do
you
know of the tonnish circles of London?”

“Girls, please!” their mother cautioned with ineffectual embarrassment.

Isabel, in an attempt to avert a quarrel between the girls, smiled at Trixie understanding. “I take it that the Lazenbys' dashing son is a particular friend of yours?”

Trixie blushed, but Sybil hooted mockingly. “
Very
particular, I'd say. She positively
dotes
on him.”

“Sybil, you prattle-box, hold your tongue!” Trixie muttered in a threatening undervoice. “You're setting up my bristles, and I warn you—”

“There's no need to ruffle your feathers on our account, Trixie,” Meg said in some amusement. “My aunt and I find it perfectly natural for a lovely young lady of your age to dote on a dashing neighbor. We would account it strange if you did not.”

Trixie cast Meg a look of surprised gratitude. “Would you really? How kind of you to say so.”

“Geoffrey wouldn't agree with you,” Sybil said, continuing to taunt her sister. “Geoffrey says Mortimer Lazenby's a popinjay and that Trixie's an indiscriminate—”

“Sybil!” her mother cried, appalled.

“Dash it, Sybil, I'll—” Trixie took a threatening step toward her sister.

“Stop it, both of you!” Lady Carrier ordered with a real attempt at firmness. “What will our guests
think
of you?” She turned back to Meg, her face collapsing into tearful self-pity. “It's all Geoffrey's fault, you know. He's put us all on edge, just because … because … well, I may as well admit it to you, I permitted Trixie to attend a perfectly unobjectionable little party last night …” She sniffed pitifully into her handkerchief.

“It was objectionable to Geoffrey,” Sybil said. “He guessed it was at the Lazenbys, even though you tried to make him think—”

“As far as I'm concerned,” Lady Carrier said petulantly, “there's nothing wrong with her going to the Lazenbys. There's nothing at all objectionable about Mortimer, either.”

“He's really quite up to snuff, Lady Meg,” Trixie said, coloring again. “His family is completely respectable, and he's very handsome and neat as a trencher—”

“A veritable jack-a-dandy,” Sybil said scornfully.

“There's nothing wrong with dressing in the latest mode,” Trixie flashed back. “Just because one lives in the country, one needn't look like a bumpkin, isn't that so, Lady Meg?”

“But one needn't look like a twiddle-poop, either!” Sybil shot back.

“Girls, that will do! Do you see, ladies, how discomposed we all are? You must forgive us. If only Hackett had had his wits about him and hadn't driven into your carriage, we would never have fallen into this fix, for Geoffrey would never have learned that I permitted Trix to go. You can imagine how chagrined he is, having discovered our little secret in such a
dreadful
way—just coming upon the scene of the accident and discovering his sister buried in the wreckage. He's read us the riot act in no uncertain terms, you can be sure of that!”

Trixie's mouth took on a pouty look, but she said nothing. Sybil looked from her sister to her mother in disgust. “Must we be forever talking about nothing but Trixie's
affaire-de-coeur?
The entire subject has given me the megrims.”

Trixie lowered her eyes in shame. “Sybil is right, for once, though she
always
gets migraines. You must think us dreadfully vulgar to be washing our dirty linen in front of you.”

“Not at all,” Isabel murmured comfortingly.

“Besides, we suspected something of the sort from remarks we overheard last night,” Meg admitted.

Lady Carrier began to sniffle again. “You are very kind, my dears, to be so forgiving of our overwrought state, especially when you have troubles of your own. But when the storm has passed and your leg has been properly treated, you will both be able to return to your exciting lives in London, while
we
remain imprisoned in this horrid backwater—”

“Now, Mama—” Trixie remonstrated.

“It's true! Don't you
see
what our exile here has wrought?” She dabbed at her eyes again and drew in a trembling, mournful breath. “If we had been living in London, Trixie would have had a proper come-out and would have been able to choose from among
dozens
of beaux, and—”

“I'm sure she will have dozens of beaux in any case, Lady Carrier,” Isabel said soothingly. “She is so very pretty, and so is Sybil … and they both have plenty of time to find all the beaux they—”

“Not here in Yorkshire. We are so thin of company here, you see,” Lady Carrier sniffed into her handkerchief.

“Then why don't you return to town for a time?” Isabel suggested. “You could rent a house for the season … or even visit one of your friends for a short period. Even a fortnight would be enough to permit the girls to meet a number of eligible gentlemen.”

“Oh, yes, a fortnight would be like heaven!” Lady Carrier sighed, lifting her head, her eyes brightening at the vision. “How I would love it … to visit my old friends … Lady Dewsbury, Countess Lieven …”

“And to go to all the shops and bazaars … and the
balls
…” Trixie breathed.

“And to have one's lungs checked by the famous physicians,” Sybil murmured yearningly.

“And to play a card game more exciting than copper-loo,” Lady Carrier said dreamily.

“And to hear an opera at Covent Garden …”

“And to know that one could find an apothecary just down the street …”

“Do you mean to say,” Meg asked in disbelief, “that the idea of a trip to London has never occurred to you before?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Carrier said, the dreamy expression fading from her eyes. “But of course we try not to dwell on it, because we know that Geoffrey would never permit it.”

“No, he wouldn't,” Trixie agreed.

“Not in a thousand years,” Sybil added decisively.

“But why not?” Meg asked, her irritation with the tyrannical Geoffrey growing by leaps and bounds. “Surely your son cannot dictate—”

“Hush, Meg,” Isabel interrupted tactfully. “You have no right to make comments on the Carriers' intimate family matters.”

“Oh, don't say that, Mrs. Underwood,” Lady Carrier urged. “We've revealed the intimate matters of our family quite freely to
you
, so why should we take offense if you speak freely to us?”

“But there may be many good reasons why your son has objections to a London trip—reasons of health or finance or personal situations which Meg and I know nothing of. It is quite beyond our province to make suggestions,” Isabel said firmly.

“My aunt is right, of course,” Meg said, chastened, “but I would be happy to offer you the hospitality of my home, in return for your hospitality to us, if ever you should decide to come down to London for a visit.”

“Oh, Lady Meg, how generous!” Lady Carrier pressed her hands to her bosom, rendered speechless by Meg's offer.

But Trixie sighed and shook her head. “My brother wouldn't hear of it. He thinks that London is a breeding ground of dissipation and corruption and that we're well out of it.”

“Does he indeed?” Isabel asked in surprise. “I didn't receive such an impression of him. Is your brother an Evangelical, Trixie?”

“An Evangelical?” Trixie giggled at the idea. “Oh, no, nothing like that. It's only … he feels that, if one has any weakness of character, to be living in London would only make it worse.”

“Or weakness of constitution as well,” Sybil interjected.

“Are you saying that your brother finds
your
characters too weak to withstand living in town?” Meg couldn't help asking.

“He thinks
all
females' characters are too weak.”

“Oh, I see! But not
male
characters, of course.” Meg's disdain was not noticeable to her visitors, but her aunt recognized it and threw her a look of rebuke.

“Perhaps
some
males,” Trixie responded thoughtfully, as if considering the question for the first time.

“But certainly not Sir Geoffrey himself?” Meg asked in a voice that now was heavy with irony. “He didn't leave London to keep
himself
from corruption, did he?”

“Geoffrey?” Lady Carrier exclaimed, shocked.

Trixie giggled again. “Oh, Lady Meg, you must be joking! My brother is completely
in
corruptible.”

“That's quite true,” Geoffrey's mother nodded in grave assent.

“He's the most incorruptible person in the world,” young Sybil agreed, sighing deeply. And then, as if their assessment of Geoffrey's character was the most depressing of realizations, they all three lapsed into glum silence.

Meg looked from one to the other of the three Carrier women with profound sympathy. While she'd found their characters far from admirable (she'd felt twinges of distaste on several occasions during their conversation), she nevertheless couldn't help feeling pity for their situations. Their problems and their weaknesses had undoubtedly been greatly exacerbated by the despotic high-handedness of Geoffrey Carrier, the man who dominated their lives. She understood quite well why they'd turned so glum. Incorruptibility was usually a characteristic one could greatly admire, but to be incorruptible in one's
tyranny
was a very different matter.

She'd had a passing perception, last night, that the man might have a streak of kindness in him, but the perception was undoubtedly false. She was now certain that it had been a mental lapse resulting from a laudanum-induced fuzzyheadedness. But fuzzyheadedness was not her usual condition. She would not lapse again! From now on she would deal with Sir Geoffrey in the way that he deserved. The women of his family might bend to his will, but he would find in Meg Underwood a very different sort of female!

Chapter Seven

“Don't you see, Aunt Bel, that the man must be a complete tyrant?” Meg asked her aunt later that afternoon when they found themselves at last without visitors.

“No, I don't see that at all. Sir Geoffrey seems to me to be a perfectly sensible, polite and thoughtful man.”

“But look at the evidence,” Meg persisted. “He uprooted his family from London, despite their deep desire to remain there, and forced them to live in this drafty old castle far from normal society just because it suits
him
. And he rules every aspect of their lives, even decreeing that his sister's natural need for parties and beaux be stifled. Isn't that tyranny?”

“I don't know, Meg. Perhaps it is. But perhaps he has good reason for his behavior.”

“What sort of reason
could
he have.”

Isabel shrugged. “How can I answer that? I'm not privvy to the family secrets. But it does seem to me that neither his mother nor his sisters are endowed with much good sense. Perhaps he's been forced, by their lack of competence, to make decisions
for
them.”

“That is always the excuse of tyrants!” Meg bent forward and rearranged the pillows under her ankle, poking at them irritably. “Wait until he begins to tyrannize over you. Then we shall see if you're still so eager to defend him.”

“Don't be silly. Why should he tyrannize over me?”

“Because he believes all females are incompetent. That's what I find most irritating about the man.”