A Civil Contract (23 page)

‘Don’t trouble your head over it, my dear! I know just where I mean to put it,’ Adam said, turning the bowl carefully between his thin fingers. ‘What a lustre, sir! How can you bear to part with it? No, Jenny, it would
not
look well amongst the Bow China! It is going to stand alone in the library at Fontley, in the embrasure at present occupied by that very ugly bust of one of my forebears.’ He set the bowl down on the table, saying as he did so: ‘When you come to visit us, sir, you shall tell me if
you
approve of
my
taste!’

‘Nay, I wouldn’t want you to put it in your ancestor’s place!’ said Mr Chawleigh. ‘It wouldn’t be seemly!’

‘My ancestor can remove himself to the gallery. I don’t want to look at him, and this I do want to look at. There are wall-sconces on either side of the embrasure, sir, and – But you will see for yourself!’

‘Now, don’t you run on so fast, my lord!’ Mr Chawleigh admonished him. ‘It’s not by any means a settled thing that I’ll be visiting you in the country.’

‘You’re mistaken, sir. I know you don’t care for the country, but you must resign yourself.’

‘Well,’ said Mr Chawleigh, intensely pleased, ‘I don’t deny I’d like to see this Fontley of yours, but I told you at the outset you wouldn’t find me foisting myself on to you, and no more you will.’

‘I hope you’ll think better of that decision, sir. I shall be obliged to kidnap you, if you don’t. That’s a fair warning!’

Mr Chawleigh’s formidable bulk was shaken by chuckles. ‘Eh, it would puzzle you to do that, lad – my lord, I
should
say!’

‘You should not – as I have frequently told you! It wouldn’t puzzle me in the least: I should hire a gang of masked bravoes to do the thing. So let us have no more of your flummery, sir!’

Mr Chawleigh thought this an excellent joke, but it was not until he had been assured that he would not arrive at Fontley to find the house full of his son-in-law’s grand friends that he could be brought to consent to the scheme.

‘A nice thing when I have to beg and pray my father to pay me a visit!’ Jenny said severely. ‘And well do I know you wouldn’t have hesitated, not for a moment, if Lydia had been going with us!’

This sally made Mr Chawleigh laugh heartily. He denied the accusation, but admitted that it seemed to him a great pity Lydia was not to remain in her brother’s charge.

In this opinion he met with agreement, but neither Adam nor Jenny could feel that it would be proper to keep her away from the Dowager, whose letters were becoming ever more querulous, and who described herself as counting the moments until her youngest loved one should be restored to her.

So, when the fête in the parks was over, Lydia went regretfully back to Bath, bearing with her a store of rich memories, and renewed theatrical longings. One visit to Drury Lane had been enough to set her on fire. She had sat spellbound throughout a performance of
Hamlet
, her lips eagerly parted, and her wide gaze fixed on the new star that had appeared in the theatrical firmament. So entranced had she been that she had barely uttered a syllable from start to finish; and when she had emerged from this cataleptic state she had begged to be taken home before the farce, since she could not endure to listen to any other actors in the world after having been so ravished by Kean. Subsequent visits (two of which she had coaxed out of Mr Chawleigh) to see Kean play in
Othello
, and
Riches
, had confirmed her in her first opinion of his genius, and had provided her with her only disappointment: that she had come to London too late to see him as Shylock, in which rôle he had taken the town by storm in this, his opening London season. In the first heat of her enthusiasm she could imagine no greater felicity than to play opposite him, and startled Jenny by evolving various schemes for the attainment of this object. These quite scandalized Mr Chawleigh, who begged her not to talk so silly, and nearly promoted a quarrel by saying that he couldn’t see what there was in such a miserable little snirp as Kean to send the town mad.

Adam entered gravely into all his sister’s plans, and was far more successful than Jenny or Mr Chawleigh in convincing her that they would not answer. He wasted no breath on foolish arguments, but he did suggest that perhaps Kean might not think a lady half a head taller than himself quite the ideal stage partner. These casual words sank in; Lydia became thoughtful; and when it next occurred to her sympathetic elder brother that an actress who excelled in comedy would find too little scope for her genius in the company of one acclaimed for his portrayals of the great tragic rôles, she was most forcibly struck by the truth of this observation. So, although it would have been too much to have said that she no longer cherished hankerings, Adam was reasonably confident, when he put her on the Bath Mail with her maid, that she would not prostrate their fond parent by divulging them to her.

Two days later the Lyntons left London, driving to Fontley by easy stages and in the greatest comfort. Much to Jenny’s relief Adam showed no disposition to practise any of his economies, but carried her to Lincolnshire in all the luxury to which she was accustomed.

For her, the journey, in spite of some queasiness, was the most agreeable she had as yet experienced in Adam’s company. Their previous expeditions had taken place when they were so barely acquainted that being shut up together for several hours at a stretch had imposed a strain on them, neither knowing whether the other would like to talk, or to remain silent; and each being anxious not to bore or to appear bored. This awkwardness no longer lay between them; and although they spoke of nothing that went far below the surface they talked with the ease of intimacy, and were able to lapse into companionable silences without feeling any compulsion to seek a new topic for conversation.

At Fontley Jenny was glad to be idle for some days. She even admitted that she was a
little
tired, but she assured Adam that the quiet of the country was all that was needed to restore her to high health. He thought, but privately, that it would not be long before she was wishing herself back in London, for however much he might have to occupy him at Fontley he could not imagine what she would find to do.

But Jenny, wandering about the rambling house, peeping into dust-sheeted rooms, discovering treasures in forgotten corners, knew that there was plenty to do. It was work after her own heart, but so morbidly afraid of offending was she that she hardly dared even to alter the position of a chair. When they had entered the Priory Adam had said: ‘I daresay you will wish to make changes. My mother, you know, doesn’t take much interest in household matters – no such capital housewife as you are, Jenny! Dawes will show you all about, and you must do as you think proper, if you please.’

She did not say:
I am only a guest in your house
, but it was what she thought, for he uttered the speech just stiltedly enough to betray that it had been rehearsed. It was prompted by his courtesy: she appreciated its generosity, but if he had told her not to meddle she would have been less daunted.

Charlotte, driving over from Membury Place, did not help to put her at her ease. She came full of kind intentions; but when she entered the Priory she could not help casting an anxious glance round the Great Hall, which was not lost on Jenny. Charlotte had not seen Lynton House since Mr Chawleigh’s hand had fallen heavily upon it, but she knew all about the green stripes, the sphinxes, and the crocodile-legs, and she had dreaded to discover that Fontley had been transformed already into something more nearly resembling Bullock’s Museum than a gentleman’s country seat. Relieved to detect no change in the Hall, she accompanied Jenny upstairs to the Little Drawing-room, saying as she tucked a hand in her arm: ‘Dear Jenny, you must let me thank you for being so kind to Lydia! She wrote to me, you know: one of her pelting letters, crammed with the tale of her doings! Four pages! Lambert said, in his droll way, that he was thankful she was able to get a frank from Adam, for it would otherwise have ruined us to receive it!’

‘Well, there’s no need to thank me, for I never enjoyed anything half as much as having her with me,’ replied Jenny. ‘I miss her sadly, I can tell you.’

‘Oh, I’m glad! To be sure, I think everyone must like her, for she is the dearest girl, besides being what Lambert calls full of fun and gig!’ They had by this time reached the Little Drawing-room, where Charlotte instantly perceived an alteration. She exclaimed: ‘Oh, you have taken away the marquetry sewing-table!’

It was mere comment, but it threw Jenny on to the defensive. ‘I have only moved it into the library,’ she said stiffly. ‘Adam told me I might do so.’

‘Yes, of course! I didn’t mean – It just seemed strange not to see it where it was always used to be! But I know many people dislike marquetry: my cousin Augusta can’t bear it!’

‘I like it very much,’ replied Jenny. ‘It is exactly what I need for my silks and threads, so it was wasted in this room. Adam likes to sit in the library in the evening, you know. We have taken up our readings again – he was used to read to me when we were at Rushleigh – and that’s why I moved the table, so that I’d have my embroidery ready to my hand.’

‘Oh, yes! How cosy! I remember thinking how exquisitely you stitched when Mama and I visited you in Russell Square and so much admired the work you were engaged on. It quite put me to shame – and Mama, of course, was never a needlewoman.’

Jenny could not help wondering how the Dowager had occupied herself at Fontley. Her inspection of the house had given her the poorest opinion of her mother-in-law: besides being no needlewoman she was no housewife either. She had told Jenny that she had been obliged to let the house fall into disrepair, but in her place Jenny would have set stitches to the first split in a brocade curtain; and if her domestic staff had been so much reduced as to have made it impossible for them to keep the furniture polished she would have set about the task herself rather than have allowed wood to grow dull and handles tarnished. She thought that Fontley had suffered as much from a negligent mistress as from an improvident master. The Dowager would have renovated it in excellent taste; but she lacked Jenny’s eye for an undusted table, or a corner left unswept, and, in consequence, her servants had grown careless, even Mrs Dawes, the housekeeper, finding it easier to join her mistress in bemoaning the want of extra footmen and chamber-maids than to keep the remaining servants up to their work. Jenny held Mrs Dawes in contempt, and showed it. She did not mean to do so, but she knew nothing of dissimulation, and her blunt tongue betrayed her. When every evidence of neglect was attributed to the want of an adequate staff she grew more and more curt, finally losing her temper when Mrs Dawes said: ‘In the old days, my lady, we always had a steward, and a groom of the chambers, and things were different.’

‘Well, I should hope they were!’ said Jenny. ‘Though what a steward has to do with keeping linen in good order I’m sure I don’t know!’ She saw the housekeeper stiffen, and added, in an attempt at conciliation: ‘I can see that more servants are needed, and I’ll speak to his lordship about it.’

But the mischief was done. Mrs Dawes was icily civil there-after, and showed her hostility when Jenny discovered a dinner-service in one of the cupboards, and exclaimed as she inspected it: ‘Good gracious, why is this never used, but only that Bristol set, with every plate chipped? Have it all taken out and washed, if you please! It is most elegant!’

‘That, my lady, is the Crown Derby china,’ responded Mrs Dawes loftily.

‘To be sure it is, and with the Chantilly pattern too. Is it quite complete? We will use it instead of the other.’

‘Certainly, my lady,’ said Mrs Dawes, her eyes downcast, and her hands primly folded. ‘If it is his lordship’s wish to have the best china used every day I will have it taken out immediately.’

Jenny bit back a tart rejoinder. ‘I daresay his lordship won’t know one set from t’other, but we’ll see!’

She put the question to him as they sat at dinner, saying: ‘I find you have the prettiest Crown Derby china stowed away in a cupboard – the French sprig pattern. Mrs Dawes seems to think it must not be used, but should you object to it if we did use it, my lord?’

‘
I?
’ he said, putting up his brows. ‘Of course I should not!’

‘No, I thought you would not – or even notice it!’ Jenny said, with one of her sudden smiles.

He perfectly understood why the question had been put to him; he said, knowing that his words would spread through the house: ‘I daresay I might not. In any event, my dear, I have nothing to say in such matters, and wish you will do as you think best. You are the mistress of Fontley: I shan’t dispute with you over
any
changes you may like to make.’

Later, he asked her if she would prefer another housekeeper in Mrs Dawes’s place. She said at once: ‘Oh, no! Pray don’t think – I know she has been here for ever, and didn’t mean –’

‘Try not to rub against the servants!’ he said. ‘I should be very reluctant to turn any of the older ones off: Dawes knew Fontley before I did, you know!’

‘Oh, no, no! I never meant – Only they despise me so!’ she blurted out.

‘They won’t do so when they know you better.’ He hesitated, and then said gently: ‘Don’t speak to them quite so roughly, Jenny! Most of them are such very old friends of mine!’

‘I don’t know how to talk to servants,’ she confessed. ‘You do – but it wouldn’t do for me to copy you. I’ll try to go on better, but it does vex me so when – Well, never mind! Is the cook an old friend of yours?’

This sudden question made him laugh. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever laid eyes on the cook!’

‘No, very likely not, for he’s only been here a twelvemonth. Now, I told you I wouldn’t meddle, but there’s no teaching that man his trade, Adam, and to see you pecking at your food as you do is more than I can bear – though I’m sure I don’t blame you! So, if you’re agreeable, we’ll send for Scholes, and then maybe you’ll fancy your dinner again.’

‘I own it would be pleasant, but how will a French-trained cook relish our old-fashioned kitchens here? I doubt if he’ll come into the country, Jenny.’

‘He’ll come fast enough when he knows it will mean another twenty pounds added to his wages,’ said Jenny caustically. ‘As for the kitchens, if you don’t wish them to be altered, Scholes must make the best of them; but if you would but put in a good closed stove, like the Bodley we have at Lynton House, you’d find it an economy. The fuel this great open range burns – !’

‘Does it? I expect we should have had a different stove years ago. Send for what you like! Anything else?’

‘No, thank you. I shall be hiring a few more servants, but that needn’t concern you, for with Lynton House shut up I’m wonderfully beforehand with the world.’

Mrs Dawes received the news of these forthcoming changes with mixed feelings. Asked to say which of the closed stoves now on the market she considered the best, she preferred to advance no opinion, being, she said, unacquainted with any of them. But this was not true. At Membury Place her dear Miss Charlotte had a closed stove; she had seen and coveted it, and even indulged the hope that his lordship’s rich wife would install one at Fontley. She viewed with less favour the importation of a top-lofty town cook, but was considerably softened by Jenny’s saying: ‘If something’s not done we shall have his lordship dwindling to a thread-paper! Well, I don’t doubt you know as well as I do that for all he never complains or seems to notice what’s set before him he’s very nice in his tastes – not to say capricious! – and if the meat’s not dressed as he likes it he doesn’t eat more of it than would keep a kitten alive.’

The suggestion that his lordship might waste away from lack of sustenance made an instant appeal. Mrs Dawes relented enough to say that he had always been one who had to be tempted to his dinner. Jenny next asked her if she could recall which warehouse had supplied the brocade that covered certain of the chairs. ‘For if only I could procure it I’d like to have them recovered,’ she said. ‘Not changing them, but making them the same as they were before. His lordship wouldn’t wish anything to be different, and I wouldn’t for the world – Well, I don’t mean to turn the house out of doors, but what’s worn to shreds must be made new again!’

Mrs Dawes said that she didn’t know but what she might be able to recall the name of the warehouse; and, to discourage any idea that she had been won over, brought the interview to an end by saying that she was sorry the second housemaid had given Miss Pinhoe cause for complaint, and also that Miss Pinhoe had not seen fit to mention the matter to her – ‘when I should have dealt with it immediately, my lady.’

The haughty Miss Poolstock had been disliked by every member of the household, but her odious air of consequence had marked her as a dresser of the first respectability. Ten minutes spent in Miss Pinhoe’s company were enough to inform her fellows that she was not at all the sort of superior female a lady of real quality would employ as her personal maid. A rough tongue had brought her into instant collision with Mrs Dawes, and a feud of promising longevity seemed to be inevitable when a chance word revealed to Mrs Dawes that Miss Pinhoe came from her own county. Frigid enquiry elicited the information that Miss Pinhoe had first seen the light at Church Stretton, not seven miles from Mrs Dawes’s birthplace. From that moment the thaw set in, Miss Pinhoe recognizing in the daughter of a well-to-do farmer her social superior, and Mrs Dawes (once this point had been established) admitting Miss Pinhoe into the ranks of her intimates. Neither lady regarded the other with unqualified approval, but to the world they soon presented a solid Salopian front; and bored Dunster and Kinver at every meal in the Room by recalling ancient parochial scandals, and exhaustively pursuing obscure genealogies. Nor was it long before Miss Pinhoe had disclosed an interesting piece of information, which caused Mrs Dawes to regard her mistress with a more tolerant eye. Much would be forgiven to Jenny if she provided Fontley with an heir, but Mrs Dawes suspended final judgement, by no means confident of the issue. In her view, a sickly pregnancy heralded the birth of a daughter: an arrival which would show how unworthy of her position was my lord’s vulgar bride.

In fact, Jenny was beginning to overcome her sickness; but although she went briskly about her affairs she felt so far from well that she cried off from the Holkham week. Adam did not press the matter, but went alone, to mingle with the farmers of every degree who flocked to Holkham at this season, and to learn as much as he could from their discussions.

During his absence the new stove was installed; the reliable upholsterers summoned from Lincoln were set to work on the chair-covers; and the entire household was driven into strenuous activity: mending, making, cleaning, and polishing.

Charlotte, visiting her sister-in-law in case she should be lonely while Adam was away from home, exclaimed in astonishment: ‘Jenny! Good gracious, how different everything looks! I declare, I hardly recognize dear old Fontley!’